


Bent

by zerostumbleine33



Series: Bent [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content, Substance Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerostumbleine33/pseuds/zerostumbleine33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the year 2012 and Dean and Cas have finally started to pick the pieces of their lives. After losing Sam in Detroit when he said "yes" to the devil, the world began to crumble. Croats run the streets and resources are scarce but at least Dean and Cas have one another. In a world with so much gone wrong, they remain two people who aren't broken; just bent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unnatural Selection

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing the DCBB and overall the second fic I ever started to write. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I want to give a big thank-you to my artist stefy_coool who is absolutely fantastic, a pure pleasure to work with, who made amazing art. I couldn't gush more about her! Please check out the art she did for this fic here: http://stefy-coool.livejournal.com/135812.html
> 
> I also want to thank the people who beta'd my fic! Sarah (ssjdebusk) and favola_de_michi
> 
> This fic originally posted to LJ for the 2013 DCBB: http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com/138261.html

“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death”  
-Oscar Wilde

August 2012

**Chapter 1: Unnatural Selection**

A piercing ring and blast of light brings Dean to his senses. He opens both eyes, and notices that he is on the ground. His ears sting with the hum of the blast-his vision flitting in and out of focus. He’s on the ground, and blood is dripping down his forehead onto his cheek. He absently wipes at it while watching everything in slow motion.

Castiel is yelling, but Dean can’t hear anything except a high pitched ringing in his ears. As his eyes focus, he can see that blood is soaking through Castiel’s green shirt; somewhere near his collar. He doesn’t have time to notice more, as Castiel pulls him to his feet, wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist.

Castiel just barely pulls out his gun as the door is finally knocked down. His eyes scan the room quickly, his mind quickly and effortlessly calculating their odds of getting out alive. Without Dean to back him up, their chances have been cut in half. Castiel can only grit his teeth and do his best to protect them both. The thought crosses his mind that he should be careful to save at least one bullet. That was their pact. Castiel lifts his free arm and fires two perfect shots, killing the first two who walk in the door. There are more, he is sure of it.

He tilts his head to get a better look out of the window and he can see why they aren’t yet surrounded by a hoard of Croats. He shakes his head bitterly and turns away, pulling Dean towards the door at the back of the room.

Dean leans into Castiel, his head swimming, and his eyes still not adjusted. He wants to ask Castiel what happened, but the ringing in his ears has yet to subside. Instead he shakily pulls out his own gun, hoping to be of some use. The hard line drawn across Castiel’s face tells him that they aren’t in a good position right now and he doesn’t want to ask where everyone else is.

Castiel puts his hand against the door, and pushes quietly, his gun held up. He raises one finger to his lips, in a gesture to tell Dean to be quiet. Dean can’t help but grin slightly, considering he has been the one organizing all the supply runs lately. He _knows_ to be quiet in an area crawling with Croats.

Together they walk into the back room of the abandoned bar they are stuck in. It is dark, but thankfully empty. Castiel sets Dean down as he double-checks the room, looking behind the various supply shelves.

Dean takes a moment to look at their surroundings now that his head has started to clear. Castiel reaches into his backpack and tosses a rag at him. He says something that Dean still can’t hear through the ringing in his ears, but he gathers that he is supposed to wrap the rag around his head to stop his bleeding. He does as Castiel instructs, and quickly.

In the meantime, Castiel stacks a few boxes in front of the swinging door they had just entered through. He stacks just enough to not trap them, but also enough to stop anyone from getting in too easily. He looks at Dean, relieved to see that Dean seems to be on his feet again. 35% chance of getting out alive now.

Dean pulls his backpack off his back and looks at Castiel. They don’t need words anymore. This is routine. Castiel watches both doors; his safety off, his finger on the trigger. Dean looks through each box in the room. This is their objective, and while a rundown bar hadn’t been their initial target, they have to make due. Dean’s eyes light up as he finds a medical kit, which he holds up to show Castiel before stowing it in his backpack.

There isn’t much to be desired in terms of necessities. There are bags of peanuts, which Dean also stores, but not much else. With his bag still mostly empty, he grabs all the bottles of alcohol that his pack can hold. He throws a glance over at Castiel, who doesn’t bat an eye.

At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore what anyone drinks. If they can get a hold of anything, that is good enough. Dean fills his bag with as much whiskey, and vodka as he can fit. It isn’t food, but it is something to get by on (as much as it sucks to need that too).

As Dean pulls his backpack over his shoulders again, there is a thud against the door leading back out to the bar. He and Castiel exchange quick glances again as Dean pulls out his gun. He nods his head, to show that he is fine now; his hearing mostly back to normal and his head has stopped swimming. Castiel opens the back door to the stock room, sprinting out as fast as he can. Dean covers him, firing a shot into the door, hoping to stop at least one. He pulls down a supply rack as the door is pushed open and six Croats claw their way forward.

Castiel shoots three more in the alleyway as he runs. They’ve been here before, on this side of the city. He knows there’s a dead-end to his right, but to his left leads to the open road. Without their comrades, they now stand little chance there. His mind calculates again, remembering their routes. As he watches Dean stumble into the alleyway, he knows he needs to think faster.

He remembers a ladder leading to the top of the building, and while it seems like a dead-end, it is the best solution he has for now. As Dean meets up with him, they run together, Castiel leading the way. He points to where they are heading, as Dean shoots another Croat that was following them. If they don’t hurry, the sound of the gunshots will alert more.

Dean’s eyes scan the alleyway as he covers the area behind them. He hopes that Castiel has a plan, since he seems to be leading them towards a dead end. They have been through much though, and Castiel has never failed him. As they reach the ladder extending along the side of the building, Dean can’t help but groan. His hearing seems to have returned fully, albeit with a nasty ringing to it as well that permeates his brain, sending pain to the back of his eyes.

“Really, Cas?”

“Dean, we have no other choice,” Castiel replies, as he helps boost Dean up to reach the first few rungs.

“What? I can’t hear you,” Dean says, lying through his teeth. He isn’t a fan of heights, and while he has never told Cas, he knows that Cas is aware of this. Dean swears under his breath, hoping that Castiel can hear him.

Dean reaches one hand down towards Castiel, helping pull him up as well. A few Croats walk into the alleyway and it is mere moments before their eyes travel upwards towards the ladder that Dean and Castiel are climbing. Dean pulls out his gun, shooting a few, but it doesn’t help much. The alleyway quickly fills and his ammunition is running low. He sticks his gun back into his leg holster and begins to climb as fast as he can.

The notion crosses his mind that Castiel is the one below him, and that the Croats following them up might just pull him down. His fingers reach for the next rung, adrenaline pulsing through each of his movements. He doesn’t dare look behind him, especially not since they are four stories high by now…just two more to go.

“You OK, Cas?” he asks, as he hears Castiel’s heavy breathing behind him. Dean’s mind travels back to the blood stain on Castiel’s shirt.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just hurry.”

Castiel fires two more shots, his gun clicking blankly as he attempts a third. He swears under his breath, a Dean habit that he had picked up, but he quickens his pace up the ladder. As if the end of the world isn’t bad enough, Croats aren’t just zombies or mindless creatures entirely. They can open doors and climb stairs and ladders. They are lining up below him; quickly gaining speed on Castiel, whose shoulder wound is beginning to cause more than a little discomfort. He bites his lip to keep from screaming out, as his reopens his injury, fresh blood coating his shirt again.

Dean throws himself against the floor at the top of the building and scrambles to reload his gun. He extends a free hand to Castiel, pulling him up behind him. His eyes glance over the dark stain on Castiel’s shirt, which now covers the whole top half of the shirt. He makes a mental note to bandage him up soon, before he loses too much blood.

Dean shoots the first Croat that comes up on the ladder landing. He doesn’t flinch as he hears the body hit the pavement below, nor the next three the meet the same fate. Castiel is checking along each edge of the rooftop while holding one hand against the gash near his collarbone. When the sound of gunshots dies, Castiel joins Dean.

“So you got a plan to get us out of here, or what?” Dean asks, grimacing at their prospects.

“Yes. You aren’t going to like it though,” Castiel responds, peering over the edge of the building again to make sure no more Croats are crawling up the ladder.

Dean sighs loudly, “This is when I _really_ wish that you could just strap on those angel wings and zap us somewhere safe, Cas.” He immediately regrets saying it, wishing he could stuff the words back into his mouth.

Castiel’s face barely registers the comment, but Dean knows better. To anyone else at the camp, they’d never catch the split second of pain and embarrassment. Dean knows it though, in the small crease in Castiel’s forehead and the way his shoulder’s tense and his blue eyes darken, glazing for just a moment.

They don’t have time to talk this over, and Castiel ignores Dean’s comment, as he ignores a lot of what Dean does these days.

“If we hop to the next rooftop, we should be able to take the fire escape down. We will make a line for the trees. If we are lucky, we can hotwire a car before we draw too much attention to ourselves.” Castiel doesn’t mention the silent statistics running through his head as he calculates his own chance of survival as well as Dean’s.

Dean’s face recoils in disgust at the thought of jumping across a rooftop, and he groans. He has followed Cas so far, but this just seems ridiculous. Dean tiptoes to the edge of the building, trying to not look down. The distance isn’t too far, and he estimates that with a small running start, he should easily clear the gap. Even with his head pounding, he figures he is better off than Cas right now.

The blood on Cas’ shirt is dark, and it poses a start contrast to Castiel’s now-pale skin. All color has drained from his face, and Dean can’t help but notice that Cas is still breathing hard. They don’t have much time, but this wouldn’t be the first time that Cas has failed to register his own mortality.

“Hey Cas, you OK? You look like you’ve been losing a lot of blood.”

Castiel tries to keep control, while his head is spinning. For the millionth time, he curses his weakness, his humanity. He manages to nod at Dean, but he knows his strength is failing him. Climbing up the ladder had torn open his wound, and he’s been steadily losing blood for far too long now.  What he wouldn’t give to be able to heal them both and fly them to safety.

Dean removes his backpack and his jacket in one swift move. His plaid button-down shirt is blood stained and hasn’t been truly clean for weeks, but he rips it off, his fingers fumbling as he tries to not waste one moment. One look at Cas had told him all he needed to know. Cas has pushed himself too far again, and they aren’t exactly in a good place right now. He needs to work fast.

Dean gently helps remove the jacket that Castiel is wearing. It is one of Dean’s, like most of Castiel’s clothing. Castiel looks away as Dean lifts the blood soaked shirt, not wanting to see his own mangled skin. Dean inhales slightly as his eyes trace the deep gash along Castiel’s collarbone, extending from his neck to his upper arm. He shakes his head and blinks several times, reminding himself to hurry.

He wraps his shirt around the injury, tying the sleeves in a knot at the back of Castiel’s neck. Dean tries to ignore the pulling in his heart, the sadness that would overcome him if he let it. It doesn’t take much for him to discern that Castiel had probably been injured trying to save him. Dean pushes his guilt down, deep inside him, along with the rest of it, and helps Castiel back into his jacket.

Their eyes meet, and a silent “thank you” passes between them, the words unsaid that they have long forgotten. Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s good arm, and squeezes. Dean nods at Castiel, his hand dropping back to his side. He will go first.

Castiel blinks, trying to keep his mind clear. He feels dizzy, and his vision is blurring again. If he makes it across, they have a 50% chance now.  He holds onto this fact, forcing his feet to work together. Dean clears the gap easily, turning to give him a thumbs-up. Dean’s face has a smile forced on it, but Cas knows that Dean’s heart is racing.

Castiel places both of his hands on his knees, gearing up to make his sprint and leap. The ground is moving and he would give anything to sit down and have some water right now. His mouth is dry, and he can acutely feel how his body temperature has escalated. He ignores this, knowing that Dean would never leave him behind-so he needs to make it across. He runs, each moment suspended. One foot in front of the other, his mouth set in a hard line, determination overruling his biological needs…the only way Castiel knows how to be human.

 

As he flies across the gap between the two buildings, he closes his eyes for just a millisecond, recalling the pleasure and freedom of flying. The gap is small, and he doesn’t have more than that before one foot connects with the rooftop. Dean’s hand reaches out, grabbing at Castiel’s shirt, pulling him forward. Castiel hadn’t noticed that his jump had almost been too short, but he is tumbling on top of Dean now. Awkward limbs slam into the rooftop and Dean curses before his eyes meet with Castiel’s, silencing him. A moment passes, and Dean inhales before rolling out from underneath Castiel’s body.

 


	2. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lying with his eyes  
> While his hands are busy  
> Working overtime"

**Chapter 2: Happiness is a Warm Gun**

They make it down from the rooftop, having switched positions now; Dean is supporting Castiel with one arm and trying to keep him from passing out. Dean hotwires a car and attempts to make it back to camp before dusk. Castiel is in the passenger seat, nodding in and out of consciousness.

Dean watches him, driving silently. The radio stations are almost all gone now. Sometimes you can find a station that is running on a backup generator, but it is just a looped recording most often. They had listened to them all. The first few months, they had tried to make it to the military camps, but it hadn’t done any good. You either got turned away, or you got shot. They stopped trying after that.

As Castiel’s breathing becomes more ragged, Dean presses down on the gas pedal. His eyes glance at the gas tank meter, thankful that the car had been half full when he found it. In the last few years, they have both lost so much. Dean can’t begin to fathom losing Castiel; not now.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief as their camp entrance greets them. Castiel has been groaning slightly, and trying to keep from vomiting, but he hasn’t passed out yet. Dean kills the engine, simultaneously jumping out of the car and rushing over to the passenger side door.

“Need a little help over here”, he calls over his shoulder at the figure standing guard at the entrance. He lifts Cas into his arms, his eyes frantic with worry. He swears under his breathe, assuming that some moron kid was guarding the camp entrance and had now left it to get some help, meaning it was unguarded. Dean makes a mental note to bring this up to Beckett later.

Castiel breathes in slowly, his head resting against Dean’s chest. He can feel them moving, Dean’s arms gripping him tightly. He registers their location briefly; the camp. His head nods further as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

With one foot, Dean kicks at the door to one of the cabins. He doesn’t have time to be polite.

“Open up, Abby, hurry”, he yells.

A light flickers on, and the door swings open immediately. A small brunette is standing there, and her light brown eyes linger only briefly before taking in the situation. She is quick, efficient. She closes the door behind Dean and motions for him to lay Castiel down on the empty bed nearby. She works quickly; her small hands are deft, nimble, and well-practiced. They give away her young age, but she is more than capable. She immediately washes her hands in a bowl by the bed, and puts gloves on.

She barks orders at Dean, one of the few people in the camp who can do so without hesitation. Dean responds, helping her in any way he can. He hands her a pair of scissors and tries not to grimace as she cuts open Castiel’s shirt to reveal his large gash.

She turns quickly to look at Dean, her eyes clouded over. “Is he infected?”

Dean stammers out “no”, before realizing he has no clue. He had been out when Castiel got injured. His thoughts form a muddled heap in front of him; the feverish conditions, and the time frame. Cas could very well be infected. Dean squats down, pressing his palms to his head, trying to keep from screaming. His heart pounds as he considers the possibility.

“No,no…he can’t be,” he stammers, his eyes brimming with tears. He can’t look at either of them right now.

“I’m going to continue under the assumption that this is Cas here, and he would _never_ come back with you if he was infected, OK?”

Dean nods slowly, his heart in his throat. Abby nods towards the gun in his holster, her lips in a determined line. “You have to be ready though, in case he _is_ turned. You make sure you have some bullets ready, Dean”.

Dean takes a deep breath and nods with some resemblance of determination, pulling his gun out and laying it across the palm of his hand. The weight of it drags his hand downwards, as he tries not to imagine what it would be like to shoot Cas. As much as he likes Abby, he’s not even sure he _can_ do it. His eyes can barely watch as she works to clean and close Castiel’s wound. She talks while she works, half out of nervousness, and partly to help Dean calm down as well.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. That’s the worst of it, since we can’t treat that here,” she says, as she runs an IV through Castiel’s hand. She motions at Dean with her left hand, instructing him to hang the bag of saline solution on the wire clothes hanger stuck against the wall above the window.

Dean does everything she asks, keeping one hand trained on his gun. Cas stirs occasionally, but he seems to have passed out. Each movement he makes causes Abigail to jump, but she never stops. She stitches Castiel’s wound closed after cleaning it, and checks over his chest and arms for any other injuries. Once she is satisfied with her work, she removes her gloves carefully, breathing a sigh of relief. She checks her watch, and smiles at Dean.

“It’s been long enough now. If he was infected, he would have turned,” she says as she pats Dean on the shoulder. She is almost a whole foot shorter than him, so she has to stand on her toes to look at his head. She narrows her eyes at him, before pulling him over to one of the two chairs in her cabin. She gives him another stern look before rummaging through one of her bins and pulling out some gauze, tape, and alcohol pads.

Dean groans, knowing that it is now his turn to be patched up. The pounding in his head seems to have returned in full force, especially now that he doesn’t need to worry so much about Cas. His fingers are still wrapped around the gun in his right hand, and his knuckles are white. Abby must notice this at the same time because she puts her hand over his and quietly pulls the gun out of his hand.

“I don’t think we need this anymore,” she says gently, unloading it and setting it on the table nearby. She is quick, and gingerly cleans up the cut on Dean’s head. She explains what she is doing and why. Dean has heard it a million times by now. Abby has stitched up every injury of his for months. He smiles as he recalls Castiel telling her that he knew the finer points of emergency care, but she had simply laughed and told him that it was more for her than anyone else. That was the last time they had given her hell for anything.

Abby finishes and hands Dean two pills.

“Aspirin?” he says with surprise.

She rolls her eyes at him, “Hey! That is all we have right now unless you picked up more goodies today.”

Dean snaps his fingers and smiles as he remembers that they did pick up something. He strides over to his backpack and rummages through it, ignoring Abby’s scoff at the alcohol bottles. “Here, it isn’t much but that’s all we found,” he says as he hands Abby the medical kit he had found earlier.

Her face falls slightly as she rummages through it quickly.

“We’re going to need more soon. I hate to even ask but-“

“I know, I know,” Dean interrupts, “we need to go back to the hospital and pick up more stuff. I figured as much”.

Before she can respond, Castiel lets out a groan and his eyes open slightly. Dean stands up and walks over to his side, finding Castiel’s hand.

He had heard their voices, but they had sounded so distant. He could only listen, trying to catch bits of their conversation. Castiel tries to lick his lips; his throat dry, and his eyelids heavy. He blinks several times, taking in the dim light inside, and the darkness outside…at least this tells him that it is now night. He briefly closes his eyes and feels Dean slip his hands around his, squeezing tightly.

Castiel notices Abby standing behind Dean and watching them both intently. She clears her throat, hinting to Dean that he should move over. Dean obliges, stepping to the side. A small grin tugs at Castiel’s lips. Abigail is half Dean’s size, can barely shoot a gun, and still commands the utmost respect from him. This girl, barely 25 years old, has patched them up more times than they can count. Here they are again, as she repairs their broken bodies after things went (unavoidably) wrong on a supply run.

Abby’s hands quickly check the IV line in Castiel’s hand, and she tells him to remain relaxed but to try not to move. She gives him water and forces him to take some pain killers. Castiel doesn’t object. She is thorough, and stern, knowing that Castiel tends to push his physical limits. They have an odd friendship. She sometimes reminded him of Sam, with her calm nature, and her love of learning. Castiel keeps finding himself threatened by this, and hoping that Dean doesn’t pick on this as well. Which is silly, Castiel reminds himself, as she smiles at him and pats his arm.

“I’ll leave you guys here tonight,” she says, grabbing a bag by the door and tucking some stray items of clothing into it.

Dean blinks a couple times and tilts his head to the side, stammering “No, why would you think, I mean, this is _your_ cabin”.

She raises an eyebrow at him and smiles. “I’ll see you guys in the morning. Cas should feel much better by then. Just watch his IV line,” she says with what Dean convinces himself is _not_ a wink.

As the door shuts behind her, Castiel can only grin to himself. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of them. The world is ending, he is human, and he doesn’t think it matters much who you love these days. It is usually torn away from you anyway. His head is swimming slightly, as his eyes slide over to gaze at Dean, who is already filling a cup with some whiskey.

Castiel frowns and rolls his eyes, not bothering to say anything. It isn’t as bad as when they had lost Sam a little over two years ago. The months that Dean had spent drunk, breaking down in Castiel’s arms-they don’t talk about it much. When they lost Bobby about a year later, it had almost been worse. Dean didn’t even cry that time; he had walked into the shower with his clothing on, and stood there under the cold water for what seemed like an eternity. When he got out, his eyes had been cold, unforgiving, and he went straight to his bed. He didn’t leave the bed until Castiel had finally broken down as well, weeks later. They don’t talk about that either.

Dean closes his eyes, reclining back in his chair, bringing the glass cup to his lips and savoring a long gulp. He finishes the glass and pours another, drinking half of it in one go. His head feels much better already, and he finally manages to look Cas in the eyes.

Castiel holds out his hand for Dean to take, which he does. He slides out of his chair and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean takes another gulp of his alcohol, finishing his second large glass in mere minutes. Castiel tries not to frown, tries not to let it show how much it hurts that Dean does this.

Dean grins back at Cas, rubbing his hands along the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. His palms are sweaty, and he reaches up with his free hand to close the curtains on the window. He lifts one hand to Castiel’s head, pushing his hair back slightly. For a moment, he thinks to himself that he kind of likes Cas with longer hair.

Castiel inhales at Dean’s touch, Dean’s warm hand against his own cool skin. He closes his eyes for a moment and is shocked when Dean’s lips meet his own in a forceful kiss. Dean’s hand runs through Castiel’s hair, pulling on it as his fingers intertwine around the hairs on the back of his head. Castiel stiffens, pulling back from Dean briefly.

“Not tonight, Dean,” he says, trying not to sound so saddened by his own rule.

“Dammit, Cas, why not?” Dean asks, trying to keep his voice low. He is already buzzed and hasn’t eaten since this morning. The alcohol is hitting him hard and quickly.

“Because I’m injured, and you’re already drinking,” Cas hisses back, trying not to let the last part reveal too much about his own insecurities. While he doesn’t care about labels, Dean still seems to care. They share a cabin for Christ’s sake, and Dean still barely touches him in public. Instead, he drinks, and when he is drunk enough, he doesn’t care anymore who knows. It hurts Castiel much more than he cares to let on.

Dean blinks in surprise and puts his glass down. He looks down at his hands, his vision already blurring slightly. His hands are still dirty, covered in blood. His pants are torn; his shirt is bloodstained from carrying Castiel and from god knows what other small cuts he picked up along the way. His cheeks begin to flush, and he feels embarrassed. He isn’t dumb, he knows how he is behaving, but it is like a train wreck that he is helpless to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I’ll leave”.

“Stop. Dean, please,” Castiel pleads, his eyes open wide now. Dean looks back at him and nods, forcing a small smile.

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he says. The pleading tone isn’t lost on Castiel. It is their usual game now. Neither of them knows how to need someone else, so they dance around the idea, any sleight of hand to avoid the words themselves. The devil is always in the details.

Castiel nods at Dean, using his good arm to push himself over enough to make room for Dean in the bed. Dean puts away his liquor bottle and tugs off his shirt. He quickly washes his hands and face before crawling into bed next to Cas. He wraps one leg around Castiel’s legs, and curls into his embrace. His energy is drained from him like a receding wave in a tide pool.

“I’m glad you’re OK” he says, as his eyelids close and he falls into a quick sleep. Castiel always takes longer to fall asleep, but when he is sure that Dean is sleeping, he mumbles into his ear the words that both of them can’t seem to say.

 


	3. Stanley Climbfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stand climb and fall  
> Carry the weight  
> Can't carry it all"

**Chapter 3: Stanley Climbfall**

Dean wakes up, the sun peering through the window, the cheap curtains doing nothing to shield him from her rays, or the chilled August weather of Illinois. He squints and adjusts his body slightly, taking an extra moment to soak up the tenderness of Castiel’s embrace. Dean’s mouth forms a small smile as he listens to the gentle snoring coming from the body next to his. He absently lifts an arm up to run through Castiel’s dark hair, but he thinks better of it, hoping to allow Cas some much needed sleep instead.

He swings his legs over the side of the low hanging bed, his feet meeting the rugged wooden floor of the cabin. He shivers slightly, remembering that the top half of his body is naked. Dean quickly and quietly collects his belongings and dresses in his dirty clothes from the previous day. His cheeks get hot as he thinks of anyone else noticing where he spent the night, and he makes a mental note to run to his cabin and change before being seen.

Dean looks back at Cas once again before silently slipping out of the cabin. It is chilly out; winter is coming early, and Dean groans as he wonders why of all places they are stuck in Illinois. The wind is already brutal, and winter will be even worse. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets as he strides quickly to his own cabin, his head down hoping to avoid any conversation with anyone.

Of course, when is luck ever on his side? As he nears his cabin he groans inwardly. Abby is waiting there, leaning against the paneling with her arms crossed and a book in her hand. She looks up as she hears him approaching, a grin quickly spreading over her face.

“About time you got up. I need to get back in my cabin and clean up. A couple people went on a run again today since yesterday was kind of a disaster.”

Dean kicks at some stones near his feet, trying not to look her in the eye. He is sure she is thinking about the fact that he had spent the night with Cas, in a cabin with one bed, and his cheeks redden at the thought.

“Uhh, Cas is still sleeping. I thought he could use the rest and stuff,” he says, his eyes focused on his door behind her.

Abby looks at Dean and narrows her eyes at him. They are pretty good friends by now; you either got to know people fairly well, or they died before you could get the chance. She trusts Dean with her life, and he has saved it on several occasions without question. His thing with Castiel though, she cannot figure that out. She is usually good at keeping her mouth shut about things that aren’t her business, but it is just ridiculous now.

“You know…I don’t care about whatever is going on with you and Cas, it’s cool” she ventures, starting slowly and then picking up more speed. Dean’s eyes widen, the sun reflecting off his green eyes as the color drains from his face. Abby notices for the first time that he has a light sprinkling of freckles across his nose, which make him look so much younger now that she has noticed.

Dean inhales sharply, feeling as if he is an animal caught in a trap. His heart races slightly, and he wishes he were anywhere but here. He wishes that he was in a hot zone battling Croats and demons, rather than hearing someone tell him that it was perfectly fine that he is “with” Cas. Is he “with” Cas? He doesn’t even know what they are. He opens his mouth to object, to correct her, but he isn’t sure what to even say. She cuts him off before he can say a word, snapping her book shut and holding up one hand to silence him.

“I’m just sayin’…Risa has a thing for Cas, so if he’s taken, let her know”, Abby says, winking at she walks away quickly. Dean is speechless, and hurries into his cabin, wondering why his life is so cursed. He groans and runs his hands through his hair, being careful to avoid his injury from the day before. His eyes travel around the cabin, stopping at the bed, and then at the small cot that is covered in clothing; the cot that has remained virtually unused since their first day at this camp.

His mind flits back to the first day they’d arrived, injured and wandering on a rainy day in May. They were following a tip they’d received in Chicago from some military officers. They had a friend up North, an old military buddy, who they heard was taking in some civilians at a remote park, Seven Eagles Camp, they’d said, right off the highway if you follow the signs. That was the most help they’d had in weeks, so him and Cas trudged on, grumbling about the stupid name of the camp and the god-awful weather that had seemed to accompany the apocalypse, or maybe Midwest weather had always been awful.

It was hard to believe they had been here almost 4 months now. It was a stable home, the most stable kind you could get these days. Sometimes it seemed like this was the only life they had ever lived, and that alone helps Dean cope. Life sucks now, but it kind of sucked before too. Dean shakes his head, staying clear of the memories that would suffocate him like a man drowning at sea.

He opens a dresser and finds a new shirt, and throws it on, trying to ignore the mess in the cabin. It is really too small for two people, but the camp had been full at first. Everyone bunked up back then. Dean used to insist that they take anyone in, women and children, as well as elderly. It isn’t as simple now. Their camp is smaller; they’ve lost so many. There is probably room for Cas to get his own cabin, but Dean would never suggest it, that much he can admit to himself. Even when Castiel makes a mess, and is constantly moving things around to random spots, Dean can’t fathom sleeping alone in the darkness, not anymore.

Dean finishes getting dressed, and checks the time. It is almost 10am, and if Beckett ran a supply run this morning, they are bound to be back soon. In general, it is easier to go early in the morning; less chance of running into Croats since they also have to sleep, although seemingly not as often as normal humans. Same goes for eating, and half the time they will just eat other people if they are hungry enough. Dean shivers at the thought, remembering to grab a jacket on his way out.

Most of the camp is awake now, buzzing with activity. Dean walks around, hoping to find Beckett barking orders somewhere. It isn’t hard to find him usually. He’s a large Irishman, who has a booming voice, and arms covered in tattoos. Sure enough, Dean hears him telling someone to inventory everything they are bringing in. They’d apparently brought in a large supply of food and clothing.

Dean decides to grab some food when he sees Beckett milling by the main cabin used for food storage and preparation. He is slightly dreading the report he has to give, especially considering the people they lost and the lack of picking up anything useful on their last run. Luckily, Castiel is already sitting at one of the benches alone, eating slowly with his one good arm, his other arm in a makeshift sling.

Dean’s fills his plate with whatever morning rations are being given out. He doesn’t bother complaining anymore. Most of it is canned food, and it is usually awful. He’d quickly learned to stop being picky. He slides in to the open seat across from Castiel and says hello, his eyes trained to his plate.

Castiel looks at Dean, his expression a muddled mix of confusion and exasperation. He briefly considers opening his mouth to protest, to ask why Dean had to be so distant in public, but he thinks better of it. He scrapes his fork against his metal plate, the sound grating against his own ears. He knows he’s being purposefully sullen and despondent, hoping to get a rise out of Dean. His brooding temperament doesn’t last long, and he groans silently as Beckett approaches their table.

Castiel’s eyes narrow as he watches Dean sit up slightly straighter, and push away his plate, his food half eaten. Beckett is a large man; commanding, and demanding of respect. Castiel remembers a time when he would have relished falling in line behind a leader, a commander. That time seems so distant, and the memory only brings him pain. Perhaps that is why he finds every movement, every word so agonizing from Beckett.

He knows the speech is coming, the disapproving tone with which Beckett will chastise them both. Castiel rolls his eyes as he shoves food into his mouth to keep Beckett from asking him any questions about their failed mission.

Dean recounts every minute of their supply run, down to the bullets spent. It is routine, and he’d found it was easy to do things the way Beckett asked. He is similar to his own father in so many ways; it is almost a relief to follow orders again. Both men were soldiers, had loved and lost, and were hardened to civilian life. It is no secret that Dean is training to become the next in command, if he lives long enough. Beckett pats Dean on the back with rough hands, before his eyes trail over to where Castiel is sitting, respondent.

Castiel looks up in annoyance as Dean kicks him underneath the table. Beckett’s arms are crossed over his chest, the veins popping out on his tattooed arms. His mouth forms a hard line, and he loses all sense of familiarity. It isn’t that they don’t get along, but they don’t entirely trust each other either.

“So, you gonna fill in some gaps in the report, Castiel?”

With a grin, Castiel leans back slightly and looks up, trying to avoid looking into the sun. “I’d be happy to recount the mission to our leader”. Dean kicks him again under the table, but Castiel ignores this. He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed apparently, and of _course_ Dean had snuck out early. He isn’t in the mood to play nice.

Beckett licks his lips and adjusts his stance, his temper seething just beneath the surface. He takes a deep breath, calms his voice, and sits down next to Dean. He’d learned early on that these two boys were messed up and mixed up, so it was best to ignore their mood swings and try to talk reasonably with them. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at Castiel.

“Look, man, we lost 3 people on that supply run,” he nods at Castiel’s arm in a sling, “almost 4”. Castiel looks down in embarrassment, trying not to remember the images in his head. He sighs and surrenders, and begins to recount what had happened while Dean was unconscious; Dean’s eyes widening and then closing as he shakes his head in disbelief.

They had been running when they were caught by the military, who assumed they were Croats and opened fire. Before they’d had a chance to identify themselves, a grenade had been tossed in their midst. Castiel heard it first; the metal hit the ground as the pin fell near his foot. Castiel pauses, guilt crossing his face as he looks at his hands. He swallows and blinks, trying not to think of the people he had let down. He continues, his head still hung down in defeat.

He and Dean were the furthest from the blast, and Castiel had only a moments warning when he saw the grenade pin on the ground. He had grabbed Dean and thrown him behind a parked car, using his own body to shield Dean. The blast erupted seconds later; Castiel’s screams lost in the sound. Dean’s head had connected with the pavement, and a piece of a nearby car had flown off and hit Castiel in the explosion.

He had only mere moments to move before the street was full of Croats. The military was long gone and the only nearby safe haven was a bar with the windows half blown out. He’d carried Dean in there, but he didn’t need to check to see if their friends were alright. Castiel had seen it in the debris and wreckage. He shivers, trying not to recall the Croats who crawled out to eat the remains. He had seen it before, but he wasn’t sure he would ever be numb to it.

Castiel looks up at Beckett as he tries to keep his voice from shaking, “Is that all you needed to hear?” Beckett nods, his eyes tired and all disappointment gone from his voice.

“You did good Castiel, the best you could with the situation. Fucking military.”

Dean looks up at Castiel, his eyes red around the edges as he tries to fight back the millions of words he wants to say, somewhere mixed in between “I’m sorry”, “thank you”, and “I need you”. Instead he can only shake his head with a small sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he looks down again.

Beckett stands up, running his hands through his sandy hair, his blue eyes still clouded. He forces a smile, the hard lines on his face recalling the paths seldom taken.

“Well a bird told me you boys picked up some damn whiskey, so let’s make good use of it tonight,” he says, patting Dean on the back again before wandering away with a small wave towards Castiel.

Dean lets out a breath of air as he pulls his food closer to him again. “I thought he was gonna tear us a new one”.

Castiel barely looks up as he finishes his own food. He replies with a simple “ya”, before fiddling with his sling. He peels back some of the gauze over his wound and is pleased to notice that it has healed a lot already. All his grace is gone, but he still heals at a much faster rate than humans. He is thankful for this one remaining gift, considering how often he finds himself injured. He stands up quickly, unwrapping the sling from his neck. He tells Dean that he is going to go clean up, not bothering to wait for a response.

Dean’s fork is suspended in mid-air as he watches Castiel walk away, the weight of his humanity bearing down on his shoulders. He knows he deserves the cold treatment, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Dean’s mind trails back to what Castiel had said about their mission, and the knot in his stomach tightens as he imagines Cas throwing his body over his to protect him. Dean shakes his head, the and grimaces, wishing he knew how to tell Cas that he would do the same for him.

 


	4. Blue Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I thought I was mistaken  
> And I thought I heard you speak  
> Tell me how do I feel  
> Tell me now how should I feel"

**Chapter 4: Blue Monday**

Castiel spends the majority of his day evading Dean, which proves to be a cumbersome and annoying task, but he does it anyway. He avoids their cabin, instead offering his help with organizing the supplies and the menial task of counting the food stock while Chuck marks it off on his clipboard. At least this hides him from Dean until the sun sets and without much light, there’s not much that can be done at night in terms of work. He waves at Chuck and walks out of the supplies cabin, his eyes quickly scanning the campground for Dean.

He is surprised when he feels a hand on his shoulder that abruptly turns him around.

“What are you doing without your sling on?”

Castiel breathes a short sigh of relief at Abby before flashing her an apologetic smile. She grabs the cloth that is still hanging from the back pocket of his jeans and lightly smacks him on the shoulder with it before instructing him to hold his hand to his chest while she secures the sling around his neck.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, secretly glad that she didn’t tell him to go ask Dean to do it for her. She nods and gives him a small smile, but her eyebrows are pulled together in a questioning look and Castiel hates that look, so he turns away quickly before the image sits behind his eyes for days. He waves to her as he turns, striding towards his cabin now.

“I better see you at the bonfire tonight, Cas!” he hears Abby call behind him, and he can’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he walks up the steps to his cabin, he pauses with his hand on the handle, listening for any sound that may indicate Dean is inside. When he is satisfied, (and slightly embarrassed of himself), he walks in and throws himself onto the bed. The room is dark and cluttered, obviously too small for two people.

Castiel inhales, breathing into his pillow, on _his_ side of the bed. They’ve shared a bed for a long time now and if he thinks too hard about Dean right now, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop. He turns on his back, careful not to jostle his sling too much. The lone window to the right of the bed has the curtain drawn, but he can already see the fire being started in the fire pit outside. The flames cast shadows along the walls, and the sun has all but hidden from the sky now.

For a moment he contemplates sleeping, pretending that he isn’t frustrated with Dean and that his arm in a sling isn’t annoying the hell out of him along with everything (and everyone) else, but he stops himself. Castiel shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and setting a small smile on his face after he takes a deep breathe. He stands up, stretching his worn muscles and twists his torso several times. He doesn’t think he will ever be used to the small aches and pains that accompany being almost fully human. Regardless, he plans to put on a smile and try to enjoy the small parts of humanity that are nice (even if it doesn’t include Dean at the moment).

***

Dean tries to ignore him, but he can’t help himself. His eyes follow Castiel’s figure as he sits down on a log on the opposite side of the growing fire, mostly obscured the flames. Dean rolls his eyes, taking another gulp of the whiskey bottle in his hand before setting it on the top of the picnic table that he is sitting on. Part of him is glad that Cas isn’t staying cooped up inside, sulking, but he really wishes Cas didn’t make such an obvious effort to be pissed off at him.

Ignoring the way Castiel refuses to look at him, Dean leans back on the picnic table, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the stars. He likes looking at them, and they are more visible now than before, no matter where you are. The stars are no longer obscured by the bright lights from the cities, and through the branches above him he can made out what is the little dipper (maybe the big dipper?). He has no idea really, and for a minute he thinks back to a time when he was young and hoped to stay in one place long enough to join Boy Scouts. He’d come close, but then they had to move again, and he’d never mentioned it again.

For a minute, the mindless chatter around the campfire dulls, and Dean sits up again, feeling slightly dizzy from the sudden shift in position. He looks at his whiskey bottle, glaring slightly before taking another drink from it. It is chilly out, which thankfully means that his drink isn’t warm as it goes down. He’d had enough of that in the summer months. Dean looks again across the campfire, catching Cas’ profile through the flames. Dean’s stomach knots a little when he sees Risa sitting on the log next to Castiel, a wide grin on her face. She looks at him at just that moment, and Dean curses himself for watching them, because already he can tell he will regret being out here tonight, so he takes another drink and then one more just to be safe. The empty seat to his side stirs a longing in him that he decides to drown away with alcohol.

Castiel nods slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light from the fire and the occasional smoke billowing towards him. Risa is talking, telling him about the supply run earlier in the day. He smiles, noting her pauses and when to interject small noises to indicate that he is listening. He’s gotten much better at it, making small talk, even when he doesn’t really care to listen. She must be happy with his responses, because she scoots closer, and Castiel throws a quick glance over towards Dean before looking back at Risa, hoping Dean does not notice.

Risa takes this lull in conversation to inch closer to Castiel, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a playful gesture. Castiel doesn’t know whether he should scoot away, or allow her to continue in this manner. Of course, she could just be acting friendly, and he is overreacting. He goes with that, keeping a small smile on his face and staring into the fire now. There are quite a few more people gathered around the camp-fire, the small sounds of conversation flitting around like fireflies.

Risa gives his shoulder a squeeze before standing up, stretching and taking a long drink from the bottle of whiskey she has with her. She hands it to Castiel and winks, before walking over to Janet, one of the newer members of the group. Castiel looks down at the bottle of whiskey and then up again, his eyes finding Dean naturally, as if they serve no other purpose. Their eyes meet, through the flickering flames in front of them, and Castiel watches as Dean takes a long drag from his half empty bottle. Without hesitation, Castiel lifts his own bottle to his lips in a game of chicken, taking his own long and deep drink. Bitterly, he thinks, “I can play that game too”.

Dean is surprised to see Castiel drinking, and he knows he shouldn’t be. They’ve been drunk before, fairly often. It just usually took a lot of convincing and cajoling from Dean, and Castiel was never _more_ drunk than Dean by the end of the night. Now though, his heart sinks a little as he watches Castiel drinking across the flames. Risa sometimes flits by; her hands touching Castiel in ways that make Dean burn deep in the pit of his stomach. Chuck is there now, a sloppy grin on his face and loose limbs that indicate he’s already had too much to drink.

Without thought, Dean drinks more of his bottle, waiting for the heaviness to set in and drown out his thoughts. He smiles when people sit next to him and talk, and he laughs at jokes that he barely registers. However, when Risa stands up and cups her hands around her mouth to say something, the entire camp-fire goes quiet. She tends to have that effect, which Dean would admire if he wasn’t so pissed at her 90% of the time. She is too much like him.

“Hey guys, we’re gonna play truth or dare. Usual rules, everything inside the campground. If you’re shit-faced drunk, go to bed,” she says with a look at Dean.

This of course, has the opposite intended effect on Dean. Castiel watches with slightly blurred vision as Dean’s eyes narrow at Risa and he takes another drink from his bottle. Castiel shakes his head, wondering why she even bothered insinuating that Dean should go to bed. However, he can feel a smile crawling across his face as Risa pulls Chuck up from next to him and asks him “truth or dare?”

Chuck laughs as he wobbles slightly, drumming his fingers along his thigh as he contemplates. “Truth,” he finally says after swaying as he attempts to take a seat next to Abby on the log to the right of Castiel.

“Hmm,” Risa says, taking another drink from her bottle. Her eyes flash and she grins lasciviously at Chuck. “If you could sleep with one person, who would it be?”

“Just one?” Chuck says with a laugh as he rubs the stubble on his chin. “Nancy McKeon,” he says laughing and sliding from his seat on the log onto the ground, his hands held to his heart.

Chuck waits a moment, looking around the campfire at each person. He stops on Dean, his eyes narrowing.

“Dean, truth or dare?”

Dean rubs his chin for a moment, feigning contemplation. Castiel doesn’t need to look at him to know what Dean will choose (but he looks anyway).

“Dare, of course. Give me your best shot,” he says, lifting his eyebrows and smirking.

Chucks rolls his eyes, tilting his head up to look at the sky. “Of course you’d choose dare, what else would Dean Winchester do? Well…I dare you to lick Janet’s foot!”

Dean pulls a face, grimacing and glaring at Chuck. “Dude, you know I hate feet, come on here.”

Chuck just grins wider and motions towards Janet, laughing.

Castiel can’t help but laugh, not just out of malicious glee, but because Dean truly does look more disgusted than he should. He also reminds himself not to think of how Dean doesn’t have a problem with _his_ feet, and he feels like maybe he shouldn’t be quite so smug about that right now. So he takes a drink instead, allowing the alcohol to trickle plentifully down his throat because sometimes if he drinks enough, his fingers feel a little numb and so does his toes. It reminds him that’s he’s alive and he can feel things, and maybe it isn’t always the worst thing in the world to be drunk occasionally, though he would never admit that to Dean.

Stuck in his own reverie, Castiel nearly misses Dean licking Janet’s foot. Her foot is on his lap as he sits in front of her and she is glaring at Chuck too. Her sock and shoe are set to the side of her and Castiel laughs loudly as Dean sticks his tongue out slightly, looking more like a scared cat above a water bowl.

“Get it over with, Dean,” Janet says with a hiss.

Castiel nearly falls over with laughter as he watches Dean, who licks her foot and promptly stands up and attempts to walk gracefully back to his spot on the picnic bench, despite how much he is stumbling now. Dean shoots him a look and Castiel forgets to look away this time, quickly silenced by the eye contact between them. Dean’s cheeks flush slightly and he breaks their gaze, turning to look around at Janet again.

“Hey Janet, truth or dare?”

Janet groans loudly, giving Dean her middle finger. “Dare.”

“Good choice, sweetheart. See, I was thinking about how Beckett said he’d be out here drinking with the best of us tonight…but he’s not. He stomped away with his own bottle a little while ago…” Dean pauses for dramatic effect, raising his eyebrows. “I think you should go see how he’s doing you know, knock on his door.”

Janet frowns, glaring at Dean. “Really? He’s gonna put me on kitchen duty for the next month as WELL as every midnight guard shift, come on. He hates being bothered on his down time, you know that.”

Dean just smiles devilishly, “you chose dare, and mine was too tame.”

After a moment passes, Janet stomps off towards Beckett’s cabin, cursing under her breath. Dean’s not even sure why he picked that as his dare for her. It’s not like _she_ was the one who dared him to lick her foot, and really just because she hangs out with Risa and they both always looking at Cas like he’s a piece of meat…that’s not really important to him. He’s a little too drunk right now anyway, and he can feel the warmth settling on his cheeks and in his stomach. If he drinks any more, he might not make it to morning without puking, so he sets his drink to the side.

When Janet comes back, she flashes Dean a wide grin which catches him off guard. “Did you chicken out?” he asks.

“Nope. Beckett sends his regards. By the way…you have midnight guard shift tomorrow…with _Colin_.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean exclaims, running his hands through his hair. “That kid is useless! Great, thanks Janet.”

“No problem, sweetie,” she says, blowing Dean a kiss before laughing and sitting down beside Chuck again who has been smiling stupidly at her all night.

Janet takes a moment to wrap her long, thin arm around Chuck’s shoulders and pull him close to her as she whispers in his ear. He laughs but shrugs his head, and Dean can’t help but be suspicious. Risa must feel the same way because she calls out Janet’s name, telling her to hurry the fuck up and stop flirting before she gets another stupid dare.

Janet leans back against the log, gazing at Janet across the fire.

“Yo Risa, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Risa answers, her alcohol slurring her word into two syllables as she stands and places her hands on her hips.

Dean can’t help but notice that her hair is down, which is rare, and that in another life he’d have probably wanted to be with her. She’s got an athlete’s body, well-toned and lean, with dark hair that flows down her back. In fact, sometimes it pains him a little to notice how much she looks like Lisa, and even her damn name is similar. When they’d first met, he’d done a double-take and it had taken more than second to collect his thoughts and maybe _not_ hate her for almost giving him some sort of hope. Instead, she’d turned out to be loud-mouthed, brash, cocky, and way too skilled at taking out Croats. She is nothing like Lisa Braeden, so he never made that mistake again.

“I dare you to kiss the person here who deserves to get the most wasted tonight”.

Dean’s mouth drops open, because he doesn’t need to wonder to know who she will kiss. He thinks back to Abby’s words earlier and his eyes meet hers, followed by her shrugging her shoulders apologetically. Dean places his hands on his knees, already noting the nervous sweat that is coating them. He hates himself for it, and right now he hates Risa too and Janet for that matter. Risa throws a brief cautious glance towards him, before walking towards Cas instead. The words “fuck” run through Dean’s head several times but he still can’t look away.

Castiel takes another drink, careful not to look up from the ground. He’d heard Janet’s dare and it made his heart clench and a small coil of fear tightened in his spine. More than once, Risa had told him in passing that he needed to loosen up, get drunk with the rest of them. He hated hearing it then, and he hated hearing it even more as a dare from Janet a few seconds ago; especially as he keeps his eyes stuck on the ground in front of him, scratching at his chest nervously with the hand that is in a sling still.

It doesn’t do anything to deter her. Risa comes to stop in front of him, a teasing smile on her face as she taps her finger against her chin. After a moment, she doesn’t just lean down to kiss him; she swings one leg over his, straddling him, causing him to nearly fall off the log. She sits down slowly, her eyes darkening as her figure obscures the light from the fire behind her. Castiel’s tongue catches in his throat and wants to tell her to stop, but part of him is curious. He wants Dean to say something to stop her, but two can play that game. Castiel licks his lips without meaning to, apprehension settling into his stomach and replacing his curiosity. He’s never kissed a woman before, he realizes.

The entire camp-fire grows silent and Castiel can practically hear his own heart hammering inside his chest. He closes his eyes as Risa leans closer, and hears her whisper, “don’t worry, this won’t hurt,” and he barely responds with a shaky, “ok”, before her lips press against his. For a moment, he imagines it is Dean instead, and it feels like falling…only, he realizes too late that he is incredibly drunk and he _is_ falling. He slides backwards off the log, gravity doing its evil part and taking Risa with him as he throws out his one good arm to catch them against the ground below. It is only a moment later that he realizes their lips are still pressed together and her hands are gripped tightly around his waist. A sharp pain in his shoulder causes him to hiss slightly, pulling away from Risa.

“My arm,” he says by way of explanation as she quickly stands up and reaches down a hand to pull him back up as well. He accepts it, even though his eyes don’t meet hers. Someone coughs, breaking the awkward silence around the camp-fire and Castiel’s eyes fly up, looking for Dean. A force that feels like a tornado hits him in the chest when he sees that Dean is gone, and Abby is looking at him with a stern glare. He stands, grabbing his bottle of alcohol, while he shakily steps around the rest of the camp-fire circle. “Shit,” he says to himself, because he knows that they’ve never put a label on what they are…but well, they’d also never had a reason to define it. Castiel can feel himself breaking into a million pieces again, and he takes a drink from his bottle as he makes his way towards his cabin, and hoping (because he doesn’t pray anymore) that Dean is in there.

 


	5. Bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you help me I'm bent  
> I'm so scared that I'll never  
> Get put back together  
> Keep breaking me in  
> And this is how we will end  
> With you and me bent"

**Chapter 5: Bent**

Dean sits on the edge of their bed, his head in his hands as he blinks back his own feelings of jealousy and betrayal. The more he tries to remove the image from his mind, the stronger it seems to hold on, burrowing deep into his insecurities. The jealousy fills his stomach, twisting his emotions and he can’t help but feel ugly for it. When he thinks of Risa’s hands wrapped tightly around Castiel’s hips, he finds his fingers clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

As they had toppled over, their lips locked together, it took everything he had to walk away. Dean had imagined pushing her off Castiel, taking her place instead. His own strong legs would have wrapped tightly around Castiel. He would have instead cradled Cas close to him as their lips would pull each other open artfully and with the familiar ease that only exists in the privacy of their own bed. Dean wishes he could do that; that it _could_ be sosimple and easy. He knows he has no right to be mad, because he’s the one who refuses to define what they are…but it doesn’t make it any easier.

His head is still in his hands when the door to the cabin opens slowly. His head snaps up and for a moment he forgets his honesty with himself and instead feels only anger towards Castiel. The moonlight casts dim shadows across the room and he is sure he can tell that Castiel’s lips are swollen from kissing, and his mind immediately imagines Risa pulling Cas closer, kissing him over and over again as she presses her body against his. He hopes it is just the alcohol, because he can tell that he is going to lash out stupidly, but he does it anyway.

“Bored with Risa already, Cas?” he spits out, standing up slowly, hoping the effects of his drinking wear off soon.

Castiel recoils slightly and shakes his head, “Dean, that wasn’t _my_ choice, you know that.”

“It wasn’t like you stopped her, or maybe you liked it? You didn’t _like_ actually kissing her? Did you…?” Dean says, worry quickly replacing his anger; his emotions a tumultuous tide crashing back and forth between extremes.

“How could you think that?” Castiel retorts, his expression going from apologetic to angry. “I do everything for you, Dean. I want to be _yours_ , not Risa’s or Janet’s, or Chuck’s, if we’re going to be completely absurd here!”

Dean stops, not realizing he had been slowly walking towards Castiel, his fists clenching and unclenching. Cas’ words hit him like a slap to the face and he feels a certain clarity again through the haze of his anger, jealousy, and alcohol.

His voice softens, and maybe his liquid courage can help him tonight rather than hurt (as it usually does). “Cas…you aren’t _mine_.”

Castiel visibly flinches, his face falls completely and his hand grips his pant leg tightly. Dean backtracks, running his hands through his hair; because of course he is saying everything all wrong.

“I mean…you don’t _belong_ to anyone, Cas. I don’t want you to feel that way. I just…I want you _with_ me, and I want you to want to want to be with me. Dammit, this probably makes no sense…”

Dean drops his head to the floor, cursing himself for being the most ineloquent bastard in the history of ever, and he tries to find the words that will say what he can’t say yet. As he notices Castiel’s feet begin walking towards him, he drags his eyes up slowly, and maybe he drinks in the sight just a little bit. He’s only a man, and it’s rare to see Castiel so loose and limber with a red flush across his cheeks from drinking; his hair is longer now too and Dean really is starting to love it that way. Rather than the usual frown that seems to have been sewn onto Cas’ face, there is a small tug of a smile on the corner of his lips.

“Thank you, Dean.”

The tightness in Dean’s chest evaporates slightly as Cas steps close, placing his hand gently on Dean’s hip, his eyes looking questioningly into Dean’s. Dean nods, allowing Cas to pull him close, their hips touching. Dean buries his head into Castiel’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, a mix of smoke, alcohol, sweat, and their shared ocean breeze body wash. He smells so familiar, and Dean inhales deeply, exhaling his worries away.

As he pulls back from Castiel, he places a small chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. He knows Cas hates to fool around when Dean is drunk, and he really doesn’t want to push his luck right now. Which is why he is taken completely by surprise when Cas’ hand travels up his spine, and rests against the nape of his neck for a moment before pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

A moan escapes Dean’s lips and he closes his eyes, sinking into Castiel’s mouth, parting his lips and allowing Cas to suck on the bottom of his lip. He can’t help but think, “if this is my penance, then god help me, I’m gonna sin again”.

Castiel pulls Dean against him, their hips flushed together, as he explores Dean’s mouth and the gentle familiarity. He can’t help but think of Risa for a moment, and the unwelcome and uncomfortable feeling of her mouth against his. He fights back the feeling to run to wash his mouth out, and instead imagines Dean’s kisses purifying him instead. He relinquishes his grip on Dean’s neck, stepping back slightly to pull his shirt off.

“Hey, let me check your wound first, Cas,” Dean says gently, as he steps forward to undo the knot in the sling. He is quiet, subtle, knowing how much Castiel hates this. He checks quickly, his fingers brushing lightly against Castiel’s skin as he pulls his shirt off and discards it lazily to the floor. Dean drops his head, pressing wet kisses around Castiel’s neck and traveling lower, hesitating only a moment above the place where Castiel had been injured.

“You’re perfect, Cas,” Dean whispers as his hands travel up Castiel’s sides, gripping him tightly. Castiel can feel Dean pause for a moment before stepping back. “I mean, your wound…it’s perfectly healed,” he says, his eyes sliding to the side. Castiel grins, rolling his shoulders back slightly, watching Dean from the corner of his eye. He pretends not to notice as Dean’s eyes travel down his torso, lingering on Castiel’s pants, slung low on his hips.

Castiel waits a moment more before pushing Dean towards the bed gently, ignoring the way Dean stumbles slightly backwards. The back of Dean’s knees hit the bed and he sits down ungracefully, which draws a small laugh from Castiel. “Shirt” he growls at Dean, tugging at the hem of Dean’s worn Henley. Dean obliges quickly, throwing his shirt across the room with enthusiasm and lifting his eyebrows at Castiel.

He takes this opportunity to climb slowly onto the bed, his gaze locked onto Dean. Dean inches backwards up the mattress, stopping when his head hits a pillow. Castiel moves slower, placing his hands on Dean’s hips, squeezing the gentle flesh there. He drops his head, biting gently at the skin on Dean’s stomach, his tongue darting out to taste Dean’s flesh, made salty already by sweat.

Dean moans, closing his eyes and arching his body upwards slightly. Castiel supposes he will never tire of this sight; of watching Dean fall to pieces in front of him just because of his touch. He closes his eyes, allowing his hands to travel up Dean’s sides, feeling only slightly the motion of Dean’s ribs expanding and contracting as his breath becomes labored. Castiel’s knees are planted on either side of Dean, and he slowly lowers himself into a sitting position on Dean’s lap.

Castiel watches as Dean’s lips part and he scrunches his eyes closed even tighter. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s again, catching Dean’s breath in his mouth and this time Castiel moans, rocking his hips forward into Dean’s. “You taste so good, Dean. I only want you, ever.”

At this, Dean throws his head back, pushing his straining erection against Castiel’s, his hands on Castiel’s hips grip him tight enough to bruise. “God, Cas, don’t stop.”

It doesn’t take much encouragement, and Castiel places one hand on Dean’s bicep, squeezing tightly as his body slides lower, sucking into Dean’s skin incrementally. Part of him hopes that Dean will be seen without his shirt, and someone will see the dark marks littered across his gorgeous skin, and there will be no question again of someone else being with either of them. Castiel thinks of this as he leaves mark after mark along Dean’s torso, kissing gently the freckles along his shoulders and moving downwards along Dean’s abdomen.

As he reaches Dean’s bellybutton, his tongue darts out quickly, and he grins lasciviously at Dean as Dean wiggles slightly, holding back his laughter. Castiel loves knowing every spot that makes Dean laugh, like touching his bellybutton or his feet, and sometimes the back of his knees. He continues onwards, dropping his hands to Dean’s jeans, unbuttoning them deftly and pulling them off completely. He wants to pleasure Dean tonight, and maybe it will help some of his guilt over the kiss with Risa, and maybe he just likes doing things for Dean too. He’s broken several rules tonight, and so just this once it might be ok since they are both drunk anyway. Castiel reasons with himself for no reason, because he has never been able to resist Dean anyway.

Dean opens his eyes briefly, watching Castiel’s dark mop of hair rake across his skin gently as his mouth plants devils kisses across his torso. He both hates and loves it, because it feels good and it is so Cas, and when he looks in the mirror the next day it fills him with a sort of elation. However, it means he can’t remove his shirt in public, and thankfully only Abby has seen the marks while patching him up, and at least she only lifts an eyebrow and looks at him questioningly but never asks. He hates hiding. These thoughts don’t last long however, as Castiel throws his pants across the room (oh, maybe that’s why their cabin is always a wreck) and wraps his hand hotly around Dean’s erection. The blood pooling there leaves his brain empty and useless.

Castiel’s eyes meet his, the darker blue almost entirely obscured by his blown pupils, effects of lust and a darkened room. That sight is nearly enough to knock Dean over the edge as Castiel wets his lips, his tongue darting out again before he lowers his head slowly over Dean’s cock. They hold eye contact for a moment before it is too much and Dean throws his head back against the pillows. One hand comes up to rake through Cas’ hair, while the other grips the sheets tightly.

Dean never would have thought that a former “angel of the lord” would be the king of blow jobs, but he can’t really describe Cas as anything else. They had been awkward and unskilled the first few times but then it was like something clicked and now they can move with such seamless effort, and Dean’s too old to be ashamed to admit that no girl has ever blown him half as well as Cas (he still rarely admits this though).

Opening his eyes for just a moment, Dean looks at Castiel’s body, his head bobbing on his nearly painfully erect penis, and his hands gripping Dean’s hips tightly to keep him from moving. Dean remembers to not guide Castiel’s head too much with his hand (he’d gotten an earful and Cas had withheld sex for a week last time). He loosens his grip on Cas’ hair and lets his eyes drink in the sight of Castiel’s lean shoulder muscles, moving. Dean is close and he is only barely holding on as he throws his head back against the pillows again, moaning loadly.

He knows he is being obscene but he can’t bring himself to care. As he nears the edge, every inch of his skin feels on fire, his blood warm and coursing. He moans again, parting his lips to pant slightly. “Fuck, Cas” he says, teetering so close to the edge. Castiel takes him in one more time, deeper than before, and Dean can’t hold on anymore. His orgasm crashes over him, like a white hot light behind his eyes. For a second, he is floating and free before he opens his eyes, pulling Castiel towards him.

Every inch of his body feels warm, and he is spent, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas out to dry either. He pulls Cas into a gentle kiss, tender. He pulls back and plants kisses along Castiel’s cheekbones and eyelids, returning back to his mouth for a more passionate one. “Cas,” he says, one hand traveling down to grip Castiel’s own erection, strained against his jeans.

Castiel shakes his head and smiles. “Just for you Dean, I wanted to do that for you.” Castiel sinks down beside Dean, pulling his jeans off finally and dropping to the ground beside the bed. He wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, pressing a kiss to Dean’s bicep. Dean furrows his eyebrows, looking at Cas questioningly.

“Huh?”

Castiel burrows his head against Dean’s side, his voice muffled slightly. “To apologize, Dean. I’m sorry about Risa,” he says softly. Dean pulls back slightly, placing a finger underneath Castiel’s chin and pulling his head up to look at him.

“Hey, look, it’s fine, ok? It’s my fault too, so let’s just forget it, yeah?” Dean doesn’t want to ruin this by going into _why_ it’s his fault too because that is the same circle they’ve been running in since they got to this camp. Instead, he wants to hold Cas, and be held by Cas and try to sleep because tomorrow they will most likely be on a mission again and the world will keep on spinning. Right now though, he feels like everything is paused and he’d like to just hold onto it, as much as one can hold onto sand slipping through a sieve. Castiel nods and pulls the blankets up over them, wrapping Dean tightly in his arms. Dean can feel himself slipping off into dreams he may or may not want to have but he lets go anyway, secure in Cas’ embrace.

 


	6. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Something in the way he moves  
> Attracts me like no other lover "

**Chapter 6: Something**

Castiel wakes before Dean, just as the morning sun peeks through the window of their cabin, a gentle light spreading around the corners of the old worn sheet they use for a curtain. Castiel gently slides his arm out from beneath Dean’s head, wiggling his fingers to restore some feeling back in his hand, ignoring the prickling sensation moving up his arm. He plants a kiss on the back of Dean’s neck and rolls quietly off the bed.

Soon, the morning patrol person will be making their rounds, knocking on cabin doors and waking everyone up. It’s old-fashioned, tedious, and annoying, but it is the best way right now. The sound of alarms or horns would just draw Croats to the camp, and it’s not like their generators supply enough power for frivolous things like alarm clocks. That world seems like a distant past. Castiel peeks his head around the curtain, eyeing the dim figures moving from cabin to cabin.

He stretches quickly, turning his torso from side to side and reaching down to touch his toes. Ever since he’d fallen, he’d begun to notice a change in his body. As his grace receded, the flow of time seemed to settle in his bones. At first, he had been alarmed. This was Jimmy’s body, and then Jimmy was gone, but Castiel’s true form was merely contained in it. Now though, it is nearly all him. Each ligament, tendon, and muscle is just Castiel. The small flow of grace left is barely enough to notice now, flowing through his bloodstream quietly and calmly; the only remnant of what Castiel had been before. Now, his knees crack if he kneels down too quickly first thing in the morning, and the rain sometimes brings a drumming numbness to his right leg (ever since he took a nasty hit to the knee a year ago on some hunt gone wrong).

So he stretches in the morning before pulling on a pair of loose jeans, and he brushes his teeth dutifully, because this body is just a body and must be cared for as such. Castiel wanders into the small bathroom to prepare for the day. Most mornings he doesn’t mind a cold shower if it means he can sleep a little longer, but today he wants a warm shower to shake off the worries from last night. As he brushes his teeth, he looks at the cup of now-stale water and sighs. Once he is done, he takes the cup and the large bucket in the shower out to the watering area in the main campground.

There are several clean water stations thankfully, meaning he can avoid the one outside of Beckett’s large cabin. He fills both buckets, struggling to bring one to the water tent where he exchanges his larger bucket for one that is warmed for a shower. He gives Chuck a small smile as he thanks him, and wanders back to his cabin with both buckets. The air is getting colder and he figures he won’t be able to get away with cold showers and late starts for much longer. He laments this as he struggles to quietly bring in the large bucket in one hand and the other small bucket in his other hand. His eyes travel over to the bed where Dean is snoring softly, one leg poking out from beneath the covers.

Castiel grins to himself as he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot. He places the smaller bucket on the sink in case Dean wants to shave; Castiel figures he can get away with one more day of not shaving before Dean starts to complain about it being too itchy. He unhooks the water bag from the wall, using the pulley system installed to bring the bag down to around his waist. Being careful not to take too long, causing his hot water to go cold, he dumps the hot water into the water bag. Castiel secures the lever again, pulling upwards, hoisting the water bag to its natural spot above the shower tiles.

He thanks humanity for their ingenuity, just one of the many miracles he’d come to be thankful for. He turns the spout on at the bottom of the bag, feeling for the temperature of the water. A steady stream pours out in a small umbrella shape, and he runs his fingers through it before quickly shutting it off to conserve water. Smiling to himself, he sidles over to the bed, sliding in next to Dean. He pulls Dean close to him and kisses his nose before whispering in his ear, “good morning, Dean”.

Dean stirs, nuzzling his head in briefly for a moment and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Just a few more minutes, Cas” he says drowsily. Castiel smiles gently and tightens his arms around Dean’s waist, squeezing his body to his own. “You should get up before I use all the warm water,” he whispers before untangling himself from Dean and sauntering over to the bathroom, removing his jeans on the way. He doesn’t need to look to know that Dean’s eyes are peering at him sleepily.

Indeed, a moment later, Dean has trudged out of bed and is wiping the sleep from his eyes as he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, one arm above his head. Castiel doesn’t stop his eyes from traveling up and down Dean’s body before he steps under the make-shift showerhead. As Dean steps in behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, Castiel is grateful again for sharing a cabin with Dean; particularly one that has its own bathroom.

He turns the shower on, allowing it to wet them both. He grins to himself as he hears Dean behind him moan gently. “This is great, Cas. Thanks for getting the hot water this morning.”

Castiel shuts the water off, lathering the soap in a washcloth in his hands. He turns around, facing Dean, handing Dean the other washcloth to lather. They are quiet as they wash each other, periodically turning the water back on to rinse their bodies, and then their hair. This is sometimes Castiel’s favorite part of the day. They wash each other, usually in tired and lazy silence, but it is comfortable. For some reason, it seems like their problems can be washed away with the other grime, and they emerge cleansed and new again. Sometimes their showers turn sexual; with gentle hand-jobs and long, slow kisses beneath the water. Castiel likes that too, the lack of any urgency to their time together.

For now, he finishes washing Dean’s hair and places several kisses along Dean’s collarbone. Dean smiles gently, water droplets hanging on his eyelashes. Castiel has to hold his tongue to keep from saying, “you’re beautiful,” because really, they don’t say those kinds of things to each other, but he can think it in the safety of his mind. So he does, nearly screaming it as he stares into Dean’s eyes, the beautiful green speckled with hints of gold. The corners of his eyes crinkle as a small grin spreads across his face, and Castiel leans forward to kiss these, because they remind him of Dean smiling and nothing makes him happier than to see Dean smile.

Dean chuckles as he instructs Castiel to tilt his head back under the water so he can rinse it out for him. Castiel obliges, finally breaking their eye contact. He tilts his head back under the water, closing his eyes as Dean massages his head softly. When he is done, Dean turns the water off and steps out first, grabbing a tower hanging from the back of the door. He hands it to Castiel before grabbing another one for himself.

As Castiel pulls his own clothing on, he watches out of the corner of his eye as Dean straightens up their cabin, dressing slowly as he goes. He has one sock on, jeans unbuttoned, and no shirt on as he periodically picks up articles of clothing, smelling them and throwing them into two separate piles. Castiel hides his grin and pretends not to be watching, for fear of being told (again) that he’s the one who makes their place a mess. He sits on the corner of the bed, tying the laces on his boots when he hears the inevitable morning wake-up knock on the door.

“Ya, ya, we’re up already,” Dean says loudly, picking up his towel and running it through his damp hair.

There is another knock on the door, so Castiel stands this time, swinging the door open wide. He narrows his eyes slightly, wondering why Beckett is personally waking them up.

“Morning, boys,” he says.

Castiel steps aside, ignoring the sudden change in atmosphere. He doesn’t need to look at Dean to see the effect Beckett has. He looks anyway, exasperated. Dean stands a bit straighter and fumbles to button his jeans and throw a t-shirt on. “Mornin’, sir” he says with a sheepish grin.

Beckett’s eyes travel around the small cabin, his eyes flickering back and forth between Dean and Castiel. The movement is almost imperceptible as his eyes settle for a moment on the cot covered in junk, and the tousled bed. His eyes don’t linger for long, but Castiel catches it and it makes him clench his jaw.

“You know, you two boys don’t gotta share a cabin, we got some more space now.”

The meaning is obvious and Castiel isn’t sure how to respond, a bubble of fear caught in his throat. Surprisingly, Dean is the one who objects for the both of them. “We don’t mind, sir, we’ve been roommates for years as it is,” he says, no hint of sarcasm or anything innocuous.

Beckett nods slowly, before turning briskly to walk back outside. Over his shoulder he instructs them to meet at the group cabin in 10 for a mission briefing before heading out on the supply run. Dean relaxes the second the door closes behind Beckett, striding over to the bed to dig a stray sock out from the pile of clothing next to the bed. As he sits down, he exhales and runs a hand through his damp hair. Castiel watches him, one eyebrow raised. “That was weird, right?” he asks.

Dean shoots him a look, lips drawn tight. “Fine, we won’t talk about it,” Castiel mumbles back as he runs a towel through his own hair to dry it further. Dean strides toward him and pulls him in for a long kiss, running his hand down Castiel’s spine. Castiel can’t help but feel himself melt a little in Dean’s arms and he wonders if he is always so obvious. Dean pulls back suddenly, putting his hand to his own cheek. “Shit, I forgot to shave!”

Castiel grins and gently drags his hand along the stubble on Dean’s jaw. “It’s ok, I don’t mind it this way,” he murmurs as he leans up to catch Dean’s lips in a gentle kiss again. When he pulls back, he feels a bit better, even though he knows they are about to leave their safe-haven and be thrown back into a world of destruction. Dean drops one hand to Castiel’s and gives it a gentle squeeze before heading out the door. Castiel trails behind, throwing one more glance around their messy cabin.

 


	7. I am a Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am a rock,  
> I am an island."

**Chapter 7: I am a Rock**

Dean can feel Cas’ foot tapping impatiently beside him as Beckett goes over the plans for the mission. Honestly, Dean had been hoping they would put off doing a run for medical supplies, but it seems that isn’t the case. Most of the hospitals nearby have been cleaned out for months, meaning this would be a trip into the city. Last time they went, it had been extremely dangerous. Dean hates this hospital, hates how close it is to the city, and he can’t help but wish he was being left out of this run.

Beckett puts them into their standard pairs, pausing for a moment before putting Dean with Castiel as usual. Within the hour they are packed up and ready to go, packing tightly into cars to preserve gas. Two young guys, in their early twenties ride along with them. Dean doesn’t remember their names, something like Kurt and Brad, but he can’t be sure. They have decent aim and haven’t been totally useless, but they are new to going on supply runs. Dean can’t figure out why Beckett would make them come along, especially when this type of mission is typically more dangerous. He doesn’t dwell on it too long though, he has other concerns.

“Hey Cas, want me to run point? You cover me?”

“Sure. But Dean, why are we risking going so close to the city?”

“I dunno man, but don’t question it. Beckett must have his reasons.”

Dean sneaks a sideways glance at Cas, noticing the way his foot is tapping against the ground, causing the car to shake slightly. He would yell at Cas to stop but something in his demeanor makes him worried instead.

“Floor seven huh?” Dean says instead, looking back at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“Yes.” Castiel says curtly, still not removing his gaze from the window.

Dean contemplates asking the guys in back how they feel about guarding the front with Beckett, but he stops himself when he sees them each looking worriedly out the window.

They spend the rest of the trip in silence, nearly three hours in the car. Castiel pretends to sleep for most of it and the guys in back whisper in hushed tones. Dean grips the steering wheel tighter as they get closer, a “Welcome to Oak Park” sign looming ahead in the distance. This town might have been one he enjoyed a lifetime ago, at least for a couple nights. The buildings are old, close together, but undeniably attractive. There’s a downtown area full of shops, run-down and destroyed now, but it doesn’t take much imagination to see what it was like when it was shining and bustling with human activity.

The convoy slows down, cutting down on the sound of engines running. It is something Dean will never get used to; the silence. Towns that used to be full of people are now silent and dead. They drive quiet cars for supply runs, looking to be in and out without being noticed. Dean doesn’t need to look at Castiel to know he is checking his gun and attaching the silencer to it. Not that it matters much, any bit of sound is like a scream. Even the hums from the engines of the cars are enough to draw Croat attention if any are around.

As they pull up to the hospital, Dean groans inwardly. At least the grounds aren’t large and it won’t take long to comb through before teams go inside. As soon as the outside is clear, each pair will take a floor and scour it for supplies, taking everything they can. Priority is on bags of saline, antibiotics, painkillers, and bandages. Floors one through three are essentially clear by now. The groups that have those floors are running clean-up to ensure no Croats are walking around the lower floors or nearby grounds. Without power or elevators, the stairwells are like deathtraps.

Before they get out of the car, Dean reminds everyone to do a weapons check. A small smile crosses his face as he hears Cas exhale next to him, annoyed.

“You too, Cas,” he says for good measure as Cas looks at him with narrowed eyes. The file out of the car quietly, each pair falling in step together. Dean appreciates that the missions have a set plan, and that it is familiar and comfortable to run through. Having been on so many supply runs, Dean and Cas don’t have to stop with Beckett first, they know what to do. They go together scouting the perimeter of the hospital, always within vision of another pair from their camp.

Dean and Cas put down a few Croats they find in the courtyard, the usual, but the area is thankfully mostly deserted. They report back to Beckett, nodding at him that their sector is clear. Risa and Janet return next, followed by the two younger men who had ridden with them in the car. A few more pairs come up later, giving a thumbs-up sign to Beckett and the rest of the group. Beckett reminds them to listen for a whistle and to get out if they hear it. Dean doesn’t need to be reminded.

They used to have walkie-talkie’s for supply runs, which worked really well until they eventually all got ruined. Tha is the biggest pain; having nice stuff that is impossible to replace. So now they have to listen for a whistle and use really outdated methods. Dean waits with Castiel outside the main doors of the hospital. Each entrance is guarded now and after they get the “OK” to move on to the next floor, they head to the stairwell.

“After you,” Castiel says, swinging the door open. Dean walks in, making a face at Cas.

There’s a checkmark drawn on the door to the next floor, so they move on. Floors 2 and 3 are clear, and hopefully if those groups finish quickly, they can join in scavenging floors 4,5, 6, and 7.  Dean hopes so anyway. He waits with Cas outside the door to floor 4, exhaling as Risa walks up and draws a checkmark on the glass window; so they continue upwards. There’s a checkmark on the window of floor 6 as well, and Dean feels like he should be relieved that this is going so well, but there’s a tightness in his chest and it isn’t from climbing all these hospital stairs.

He looks behind him at Cas as they near the landing to their floor. Cas has his gun drawn, and his finger moves expertly over the safety lock. Dean checks his pockets for his knife and extra rounds as well before swinging open the door. They step quietly, rounding the corner to the main hallway of the floor. Dean stops dead in his tracks causing Cas to run into him.

Sometimes Dean feels like that little boy in the dutch myth, the kid who put his finger in the hole in the wall to stop the water from flooding and the dam breaking. Dean feels like that a lot actually, because he knows how to hold that spot in the wall and keep it from leaking, but if he removes himself for just a minute, the dam walls come crumbling down. This is a lot like that.

There’s a wheelchair in the center of the hallway, black and slightly rusted around the wheels. It has a single gunshot hole in the upper right corner, and for a minute all Dean can see is Bobby sitting there, bleeding out.

March 2012

The front door to Bobby’s house was open, swinging slightly with the cold air of a winter that had lasted far too long. He knew instantly that something was wrong; a dark cloud overhead had seemed to encourage that feeling all day. Dean didn’t wait for Cas to get out of the passenger seat. He turned his car off, leapt from his seat, and willed his legs to carry him faster across the lawn of Singer Salvage. He had taken the front steps in one stride and slammed his hand against the front door as he pushed it open completely, barreling in.

All sound had been wrenched from his throat as he wasslammed with the reality in front of him. Cas must have been running behind him, because Cas didn’t stop; he ran immediately to Bobby, assessing the damage. Dean had felt weak in the knees for just a moment he contemplated falling to the ground and letting himself never move again.

He didn’t do that though. Instead he ran to Bobby’s side, his eyes wide and frantic as they settled on the large bullet hole through Bobby’s chest. Blood had been running down in a thick stream, staining Bobby’s plaid shirt and dripping down his arm which had been gripping his wheelchair rest tightly. Cas had already removed his jacket by the time Dean’s mind caught up with reality. Cas worked quickly, a tight grimace across his face as he pressed the shirt against the wound. Dean had dropped down beside Bobby, holding his head back up, making eye contact.

“Bobby…Bobby, we got you, ok?” he had said.

His eyes flashed upwards at Cas, a realization hitting him. He had grabbed Castiel’s wrist, his fingernails digging in desperately. “Heal him, Cas!”

“I can’t, Dean…I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care! Don’t tell _me_ sorry! Use up the rest of your mojo if you have to, dammit.”

Castiel had shaken his head, placed his hands on Bobby’s shoulder, and closed his eyes tightly. Dean’s heart had raced as he looked back and forth between Bobby and Cas, looking for any sign that it worked. When Cas finally looked back at him, he had just shaken his head and looked down at the floor again.

“I took away his pain. I’m sorry, Bobby. I can’t do more.”

Dean didn’t care that tears were streaming down his face; he grasped Bobby’s hand in his.

“What happened, Bobby? I swear, they won’t get away with it. Demons?”

Bobby shakes his head, some strength seemingly regained with the removal of his pain. “Son, it was just damn people. They wanted supplies and we had’em. They got the jump on me…course I ain’t hard to get the jump on, being in this damn chair.”

“Dammit,” Dean had yelled, his body crumpling further to the floor. Cas moved to grip his shoulder but Dean had shoved him off angrily (not for the last time).

“You don’t try to bring me back or nothing, you got it, Dean? Give me a proper hunter’s burial. Come here.”

Dean had let Bobby pull him into a hug, as he ignored the blood still pooling through Bobby’s wound and soaking through Cas’ coat. He had shut his eyes, breathing in the familiar smell of old books, whiskey, and oil.

“Listen here boy, I won’t be here to tell you what to do now. But that angel of yours, he ain’t a rock. He can break too. Take care of each other, you hear me,” Bobby whispers into his ear.

Dean could’t help the small laugh that had come out as more of a sob. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go out singing Simon and Garfunkel now, Bobby”.

“Always been more of an Eagles fan,” Bobby had said quietly as his eyes closed.

“Bobby?” Dean asked, as his voice cracked.

Dean had waited for what felt like an eternity before receiving no response. He sat back on his heels, one hand still clasped around Bobby’s. Castiel had dropped his hands from Bobby’s wound and stepped around to the other side, grabbing Bobby’s other hand. Dean could hear him reciting words in Enochian.

They gave Bobby a hunter’s funeral, just like he asked. Dean didn’t say a word. Together they tracked the humans who had broken in and shot Bobby (it only took two days to catch up to them), and Dean had let go, carving them up like he was in hell again. Cas never said a word; he just waited outside until Dean was done.

When they got home, Dean killed the engine and walked slowly back up to the house. He still hadn’t said a word since Bobby passed. He walked straight to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He flicked on the shower, removing only his boots before stepping in. Blood coated every inch of his skin and he watched as it flowed down the drain. He’s not sure if he had cried or not, but his eyes stung and burned. It was as if he was wearing someone else’s skin. He let the water flow over him, cleansing him, but he couldn’t feel it.

Cas had stepped in behind him, fully clothed as well. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t press Dean to talk to him, but he wrapped his arms around him, placing his hands against his chest. He had let Dean lean back into him and eventually they sank to the floor of the tub. Dean tilted his head back, allowing the water from the shower to fall across his face, drowning out the water trailing down his cheeks from his eyes. He realized he had been crying all along. When he looked down, he saw his hands had been clenched in fists, so he loosened them and leant back against Cas again. He cried loudly that time, allowing it to wrack his body with each sob. He wept for Bobby, he wept for Sam, and he wept for Cas because Cas was now stuck with a shell of a man he is too good to ever leave.

When he finally turned towards Castiel, he whispered the only thing he would say for weeks.

“I hate you for not being able to save him.”

“I know.”

Present Day-Aug 2012

Dean wakes from his reverie when he feels Castiel grip his hand tightly and then let go. He turns to look at Cas, his eyes wide. He swallows his guilt and embarrassment over his memory, blinking several times to bring himself back to the present. His eyes travel back towards the lone wheelchair.

“This is weird, right?”

“Yeah, but stay focused,” Cas says, his voice barely a whisper. Dean watches as his eyes widen in the dim lighting.

Dean turns around quickly and curses under his breath. A Croat is on the floor, crawling towards them. This is why he hates this hospital. For some reason half of the Croats are deformed, moving at awkward angles and they move slowly; which should be a good thing but most of them don’t look deranged. They still look too human and their faces haunt him in his sleep. Of course, if they catch you they will still tear you limb from limb, but the mad haze in their eyes is different from the majority of Croats elsewhere. The one on the floor has dark hair, and it moves on its hands like an animal. “Fuck,” he says and reaches for his gun because she’s halfway down the hallway now and that is closer than he’d ever like to be to that thing. Before he can even raise his gun though, Cas shoots her, and Dean is more than a little relieved.

“We should leave,” Castiel says, his eyes peering down the hallway. Castiel’s eyes flick around nervously as the floors creak beneath them.

“We can’t just leave, Cas. We have a job to do,” Dean says, despite all his reservations. He grabs the bag from his back and walks towards the nurses’ station, peering behind the counter and on a whim, glancing upwards at the ceiling to be sure there isn’t some mutated Croat sitting up there waiting to jump on his face.

“Shit, this place gives me the creeps,” he whispers to Cas, “reminds me of one of those X-box games that were even too scary for me to play.”

“We really should leave, Dean.”

“Cas, we-“

“You are not focused. We have to leave, now.”

“We’re almost done, let’s just grab all the supplies and we can go. I never wanna have to come back here.”

“Dean, you don’t understand. I have a very bad feeling about this. We need to leave now.”

Something in Cas’ voice makes him scared, and maybe it is the whole place and the wheelchair, but he stops arguing. He thought he was the only one who had felt weird about this, but hearing Cas say it too-it makes him more worried than he’d ever admit. He nods at Cas and begins walking back towards the stairwell, his gun raised, while Cas watches his back.

“Fuck, Cas…”

“What?”

“We forgot to open the window,” Dean says, pointing to the outside where Beckett is blowing into his whistle and people are loading into cars.

“We didn’t hear the whistle…” Cas trails off before throwing open the stairwell doors and sprinting forward.

“Run!”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes off after Cas, barely allowing his feet to connect with the ground before jumping down another flight. “My ankles will hate me later,” he thinks wryly but he knows he just wants there to _be_ a later.

They reach the first floor without any trouble but when they get to the hospital lobby, Croats are filtering in through the side doors. There’s no one from the camp stationed outside, and most cars are on, waiting to leave. For a moment Dean remembers the kids that rode there with him, and how they need a ride back and it’s stupid but he can’t die here with these Croats and condemn some young kids to die just because he couldn’t keep his head straight after whatever that was with the wheelchair.

Like they’d agreed, Dean takes point, running forwards towards the main doors. Cas covers him, shooting any Croats that are following. Again, most of these are slow moving but the occasional fast one shoves through and sprints towards them. Cas puts them down easily, never missing a mark. Dean shoots the two Croats blocking the doorway and his ears are already ringing from all the shots fired indoors.

Thankfully they reach the outside and Beckett is still there, guarding their car. Dean’s lungs are burning from running and his head is pounding from the sound of gunshots and a bit from fear as well. He doesn’t miss the glare from Beckett as they jump into their vehicles. Beckett pulls up next to them, rolling his window down quickly.

“Follow me out. There’s a massive hoard coming this way, down the route we took to get here. You boys got enough gas to make a longer trip?”

Dean glances down at the fuel gauge, thankful that at least that wasn’t going wrong today too. He nods back at Beckett, because he’s not sure he can really talk right now anyway. His eyes flick to the backseat, which he notices is empty.

“They were in Beckett’s car,” Cas says next to him, as if he read his mind. Dean exhales as he steps on the gas, following the black CRV ahead.

By the time they crawl back to their cabin, they are both thoroughly worn down. Beckett had torn into them about forgetting to open a window on their floor. He’d called them reckless and useless, as well as reminded them that they could have gotten others killed, and all for nothing since they hadn’t even managed to put more than one box of gauze into their supply bag. Dean had listened with his head down, and he almost kicked Cas when he talked back, even if he did have a point when he said it took them much longer to get to the 7th floor when every floor below them had to be cleared first.

“Man, that sucked,” he says as he throws himself onto the bed.

Castiel nods, removing his shirt quietly and stepping into a pair of fresh boxers. He throws himself onto the bed as well, pushing his face into his pillow.

Dean removes his own shirt and shoes, throwing his socks across the room onto the massive pile of dirty clothing. He doesn’t bother brushing his teeth. He wants to sink into the bed and maybe drift off into an easy sleep, even though he knows that won’t be possible. He still sees the image of that Croat crawling on the floor, her dark hair in a curtain around her and her mangled legs dragging behind her. She’d looked up and her gaping mouth had been like something out of a nightmare, and he was no stranger to nightmares but damn.

He crawls beneath the covers after Cas, letting Cas wrap himself around him.

“That was weird, right?”

“Which part?” Castiel asks, nuzzling his face against the back of Dean’s neck.

“You know what I’m talking about, Cas.”

“I can’t read your mind, Dean. And you should just say what is bothering you rather than force me to say it for you.”

“Jeez, no need to be a dick about it,” Dean says as he leans away from Cas slightly.

Cas pulls Dean back towards him, kissing him gently on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to be a dick…I just want you to tell me what’s bothering you. Why did you get so distracted there?”

Dean turns around to face Cas, slightly surprised. “The wheelchair, Cas! Tell me it didn’t remind you of Bobby.”

Cas closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “Well, yes, I did think of Bobby first…”

“Exactly!”

“I’m not sure what you mean though, Dean…do you think this holds a deeper meaning?”

Dean puts a hand over his eyes and rolls on to his back. He can’t really explain what it is he thought. He knows Bobby isn’t back, because they burned his bones and gave him proper burial, and really a wheelchair in a hospital isn’t something out of the ordinary…but. There was just something off, and maybe it was just him and being in that place because he went in there with the wrong attitude, but now he can’t get that hospital out of his mind.

“Dean?” Castiel says quietly, questioningly.

“I don’t know, Cas. I just felt like there was something weird about it and maybe I’m just nuts because now I keep seeing that wheelchair when I close my eyes, and at least that’s better than that friggin crawling Croat but yah…I don’t know.”

“I felt it too,” Cas says quietly, pausing before elaborating. “I just got the feeling that we should leave right away, even before we saw that Croat.”

“Maybe it was some kind of warning?”

“I don’t know from who…but, I don’t think I want to question it too much. I’m glad we are both fine,” Cas says, pulling Dean towards him in a tight embrace.

Dean nods, leaning in to Cas’ touch and closing his eyes. He runs his hands along Cas’ warm back and tries to imagine things far more pleasant that creepy hospitals, wheelchairs, and dead father figures.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Dean?”

“What I said…after we lost Bobby,” Dean pauses for a moment, because he really doesn’t want to think more about the past but if he doesn’t say it, the guilt will eat him alive. “I never hated you, I was just angry…at everything.”

“He was a father to me too, Dean. I was angry as well…you just didn’t see it.”

“I know.”

 


	8. Nothing's Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An outcast coming home, opinions stay the same  
> They'll spit them out and spin me right back through the door"

November 2012

**Chapter 8: Nothing’s Changed**

Castiel wakes first, his head resting gently on Dean’s shoulder and one leg swung halfway over Dean’s legs. He tilts his head upwards before turning back into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, burrowing deeper into the warmth. The cold November air seeps through the cracks of their cabin, resting on the tips of their noses. It’s been nearly three months since their “incident” at the Oak Park hospital, and Castiel is still waiting for the hammer to drop on them. Each time they go on a supply run, something seems to go wrong. Maybe it’s just bad luck, bad karma or something but he can’t help but feel as if some axis has been thrown off kilter.

He removes his arm from the below beneath Dean’s head and he moves his fingers stiffly, feeling the needle pricks traveling up his arm. He breathes in one last time, his nose in Dean’s hair, before swinging his legs off the bed. His feet hit the cold, worn wood and he shivers slightly. Castiel isn’t sure why they still sleep with their shirts off when the temperature is steadily dropping, but he can’t complain too much; he likes running his hands up and down Dean’s torso, pulling him close both for the necessity of warmth…but comfort too.

First he stretches, leaning down to touch his toes and swinging his arms around him, hugging himself. He’s prone to waking up before Dean, maybe a remnant of his former angelic status. It had taken him a long time to learn how to sleep, which seemed silly at the time because sleep is a natural, biological need for humans. He had to learn to be human, which mean he had to learn to sleep. Even now, he finds himself awake at all hours of the night, listening to the crickets outside or the slow even breathing from Dean. Usually he will hold Dean close and lay a hand on Dean’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat and breathing rhythm. Their bodies will naturally fall into the same pattern, which Castiel finds is the best way to soothe himself to sleep.

Castiel digs through the wooden dresser looking for a clean shirt to wear. He sighs wearily when he finds only one shirt, one of Dean’s favorites. He glances at the large pile of clothing on the cot and shakes his head. It’s his turn to wash their clothing, and it’s his own fault for letting it get this bad. He quickly digs through the pile, picking up shirts and smelling them or checking for blood stains. Clothing is one commodity that is easy to come by these days. He doesn’t like to think about it too much. The loose shirts made from some organic material…those had belonged to a kind older man who had not made it back from a mission. Some of the shirts Dean preferred to wear, slightly too-small Henley’s and worn button-downs, those were from a young kid who had left with his mom one day and never returned. Maybe they were ok? Castiel liked to think they found somewhere safe to hole up and survive.

He presses a green shirt to his nose and finds it acceptable, tugging it on over his head. He pulls out a pair of jeans, turning them over to check for any blood stains. Of course, most clothing was stained but as long as it had been washed before, that was alright. Castiel frowns at the large hole in the knees of his jeans, knowing he’ll be cold before too long. Thankfully they had the day off, having gone on a mission last night, and messed that one up too. He looks back at Dean, his gaze softening. Dean’s brow is furrowed, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Castiel assumes that his dreams have not pleasant, which has been the problem as of late.

Dean has been closed off, retreating into himself. Castiel isn’t sure how he’s supposed to help, so he holds Dean at night and he talks about “safe” topics but he has a suspicion that the things that are off-limit to discuss…they are what need to be talked about. When Dean doesn’t know it, Castiel catches him taking out the amulet he used to wear, the one Sam had given him when they were children. Castiel had given it back to Dean shortly after they lost Sam, once it had proven ineffective in helping to find God. Dean never wore it again but he never got rid of it either. Castiel looks back at Dean again, standing and striding over to him, placing a hand on his head. He’d give anything to soothe Dean’s dreams once again, but he settles instead on a warm touch to his head and a soft kiss.

He piles their clothing in a large duffle bag and quietly steps outside looking for the washing tent. Hopefully there’d be warm water boiled already that he could sink his hands in while the rest of his body shivered. Castiel grimaces at his light jacket, reminding himself to mention to Dean that they need to lift some warm winter gear from somewhere. There had already been some early snow and thankfully it had melted quickly, but pretty soon it would be December and snow would come in more than a few inches. They need to be prepared.

***

The morning sunlight streaming in wakes Dean from an unwelcome nightmare. He runs his hands down his face and groans, rolling over onto Cas’ side of the bed, opening one eye when he doesn’t feel another body beside him. He closes his eyes for another moment, grasping at the last few strands of his dream. He’d been putting off thinking about it, and especially talking about it, but the restlessness is sinking in and he can’t sleep and when he sits down he fidgets with his hands or his gun…anything within his reach. He wants to find the colt.

It wasn’t like they had given up on doing it but…they had kind of found _excuses_ not to look for it. First, he’d been too much of a mess after Stull and he wasn’t going to think about that or he’d never get out of bed again. Then when Cas had well and truly fallen - well they weren’t hunting for a while after that either. It seemed like they would make one step forward and life would push them three steps back again. They had accepted the stand-still. Especially after they lost Bobby, and maybe that was why he can’t shake this; because now that flood-gate has been opened.

Dean figures that living is hard enough, but he’s aimless now. They get supplies for the camp, and maybe they save a few families here and there, but mostly it is like a vicious cycle. The stagnation has started to wear on him, irritation and restlessness sinking into his bones. Then there are his dreams, where he is chasing something but he isn’t sure what it is. He runs his hands through his hair and sits up, shaking his head.

“It’s too damn early for this shit,” he mutters to himself. “Cas? You in the bathroom?”

He listens but doesn’t hear anything. When he turns his head to the side, a small smile grows across his face. Cas is apparently doing the laundry, which of course he had let pile up. With a sudden realization, Dean sprints to the dresser, quickly opening the shirt drawer. He laughs when he notices the one clean shirt left; he could count on Cas to at least be thoughtful _most_ of the time.

Dean slips the dark blue shirt over his head, glancing down at the peeling tan letters; “The Beatles”. He runs his fingers down his shirt, remembering when he’d bought it with Cas a few years back when they had to go pick out some clothes to replace Cas’ tattered suit and trenchcoat. This shirt had been Cas’ until it wasn’t anymore because Dean kept stealing it, which was fine since Cas stole Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt because it said “Houses of the Holy” on it and Cas thought it was an ironic joke if he wore it.

He shakes his head laughing slightly and throws on a pair of jeans and a thick coat. Their cabin is freezing so he can only imagine how cold it is outside. Once he’s layered up on socks and stuffed his feet into his boots, he wanders outside to find Cas. Dean figures that with the amount of clothing they have piled up, Cas will be busy for a while.

He jogs over to the washing tent, a grin spreading across his face at the sight of Cas. He’s elbow deep in a bucked stuffed with shirts and water is sloshing out the sides. Dean sneaks up behind Cas, gripping his hips tightly for a moment before pulling away. Thankfully no one else is doing laundry, which is probably a good thing for Cas too. Dean tugs at the hem of Castiel’s green shirt, smirking.

“I see you’re wearing your favorite shirt. Haven’t seen it in a while.”

Cas looks down and smiles softly, “I do like this shirt.”

“You aren’t even Irish, Cas…”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Dean says, grinning at the exasperation on Cas’ face. “ _And_ I think you like it because you want to be kissed when you wear it,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning into Castiel’s side slightly.

Castiel’s cheeks flush, matching his nose which is red from the cold. “Maybe that’s true,” he muses, looking pointedly at Dean and leaning back into Dean’s hip. “I recall you kissing me repeatedly when we bought it.”

Before Dean can respond he hears a cough from behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He steps away from Cas, not having noticed that they were standing so close and being _so_ obvious. He can feel the heat traveling from his spine to the tips of his ears as he tries to flash a nonchalant smile at Beckett.

“Hey, Beckett. What’s up?”

Beckett’s hands are behind his back and he has a solemn look on his face. “I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Dean…alone.”

Dean looks nervously at Cas for moment, crossing his arms across his chest. “Here…or?”

“No, come back to my cabin. It won’t take long,” he says, flicking his gaze back at Castiel briefly.

Beckett doesn’t wait for Dean to respond, just turns around and begins striding across the grounds towards the large cabin at the rear of the campsite. Dean shrugs quickly at Cas before jogging a few steps to catch up to their leader.

When he steps into Beckett’s cabin, Dean takes a deep breath. He’s been in here a few times before, sometimes for private briefings and on rare occasions they had shared some whiskey and stories. That was mostly when he’d first arrived, and he hasn’t been in here for a while now. He can’t help feeling as if he is in trouble. Dean’s eyes gaze around the room, taking in the meticulous maps and scatterings of notes pinned around a large corkboard.

Beckett hands Dean a glass full of amber liquid and motions for him to take a seat at the table shoved into a corner of the cabin. Dean does as instructed, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. It’s early for a drink but refusing isn’t really an option either; not with Beckett glaring at him.

“So, uh…what’s up?” Dean asks, feigning a confident smile.

“Well, boy, I wanted to talk to you about taking a bigger leadership role in our small camp here,” he pauses a moment, “god forbid something happens to me, someone’s gotta be able to step up.”

Dean’s jaw drops only slightly and he brings his glass to his lips to take a large gulp. This is not what he’d expected to hear. He’d been messing up on simple supply runs and sleeping too late because of nightmares that held him in a stasis between waking and dreaming. He really expected to be yelled at instead, but this is great news. Before he even realizes it, a plan is forming in his head for making finding the colt a camp priority.

He flashes a real smile back at Beckett, his heart racing with a small hint of excitement. “I would be honored, sir”.

They discuss various strategies for organizing more efficient supply runs, gathering intel on other human camps, and managing camp supplies. By the time they’re done talking, Dean’s head is swimming with new ideas and possibilities. He wants to wait to bring up finding the colt, and formulate a real plan for it, but he’s positive that Beckett would agree. He’s nearly grinning from ear to ear as he stands, slightly unsteady on his feet after several drinks.

He takes a few steps towards the door, turning to nod goodbye to Beckett. He wants to find Cas; tell him about their meeting, especially since Cas had looked so worried earlier. As he turns back towards the door, Beckett quickly reaches his arm out, grasping Dean on the shoulder. Dean furrows his brows in confusion, regaining his balance and his eyes focusing on the hard line set on Beckett’s face, replacing his easy smile from earlier.

“Listen, Winchester. I got one rule here. I’m only gonna say it once and you do with it what you have to. I don’t want faggots in my camp…I won’t tolerate it.”

Dean’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, shrugging Beckett’s hand from his shoulder. For a moment, he is nine again and he can smell the grease and the lingering traces of smoke in the air. He is in one of those run-down diners in Michigan, Sammy is next to him, five years old and picking at the food on his plate. Their dad is across from them, glaring at something behind Dean.

He turns around, curious. His eyes settle on a young couple kissing; two men. He cocks his head to the side slightly, wondering why this upsets his dad. When he turns back to look at his dad, he is shocked to see so much anger across his face. John leans forwards towards Dean and points at the men behind him.

“That there, it’s unnatural. Goddamn faggots,” John says bitterly before leaning back against the booth. He looks between his boys, before placing one hand on each child and rustling their hair. “I’m lucky I’ve got you two boys…my strong men!”

He doesn’t wait for a response; he stands up quickly, grabbing the bill and striding towards the check-out, throwing an angry glare at the couple who had been kissing before.

Dean looks down at his plate, folding his hands in his lap, ignoring the unfinished food that he’d probably be hungry for later.

“What does that word mean, Dean?”

Dean looks over at his younger brother, dark blonde hair falling into his eyes. He lets out a deep breath and turns to check that his father is still busy.

“It’s a bad word, Sammy. Don’t ever use it, ok?”

“Ok. I promise I won’t,” Sam says as he squeezes Dean’s hand, a small lisp to his words.

Dean blinks, a moment passes, and he is squeezing his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. Every atom in his body wants to punch Beckett, to tell him to never say that to him again. He’s hated that word since he was a kid, watching a young boy get picked on in a school that he only attended for a week. He’s hated that word since his father said it in front of Sam, too young to be exposed to any of that. He’s hated it since Camp Chitaqua when they’d called Cas that, and he’s not sure he can stand to see _that_ happen again.

He takes a step towards Beckett, his voice low and strained through gritted teeth, “don’t ever say that word to me again”. He doesn’t wait for a response, storming out of Beckett’s cabin and slamming the door behind him. The liquor in his body has warmed him enough that he has started to sweat and now it runs cold in the winter air, sending shivers down his spine. He doesn’t go to his own cabin, aware of being watched. He won’t give Beckett the satisfaction of seeing him run back to Cas. He presses his fingers to his temple and bites back the memories that keep filtering into his daily life, threatening to cripple him. Bitterly he thinks that maybe Cas was right; Beckett is too much like his father.

 


	9. Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are the navigator who never could lead  
> we were lost in the silver sea  
> I was the ship who was too proud to ever sink."

**Chapter 9: Echo**

Dean wanders aimlessly for a while before the rumbling in his stomach becomes audible and he succumbs to his hunger. Finding the food tent, he ducks in, eyes scanning around for Chuck. He checks his watch, thankful that it is nearly noon. If he’s lucky, he can eat before the rush and maybe he won’t have to make awkward conversation with Chuck either.

Of course, Dean’s luck ran out so many years ago. Chuck is the only other person in the tent and his face softens as he breaks into a wide grin when he sees Dean. He quickly hands Dean a bowl of lentil soup and a bunch of crackers. Dean mumbles “thank you,” and tries not to encourage further conversation. It’s not that he really dislikes Chuck, and he knows he’s been unfair about it all, especially considering their history. He’d just rather not _remember_ their history, even if Chuck’s the only other one here who even knows that Cas used to be an angel.

“Heya, Dean,” Chuck says, bringing his own food over to the table, sitting down across from Dean.

Dean tries not to make a face, because it also freaks him out that Chuck probably knows what all his expressions mean, down to writing them in perfect detail in a book. So he keeps his eyes down, shoveling a spoonful of hot soup into his mouth. He ignores the burning in his throat because at least he won’t be expected to say much if his mouth is full. Instead he settles on a small eyebrow lift to acknowledge Chuck’s presence.

“So, how’re you? How’s Cas,” Chuck lowers his voice, “you know, the whole mortal thing?”

He tries not to groan, he really does, but he can’t help it. When they’d first arrived at Seven Eagles Camp and saw Chuck here, they’d been ecstatic. Prophet of the lord and all, he wasn’t sure who was more excited about it…him or Cas. They’d questioned him back and forth about everything until their hearts were heavy; Chuck hadn’t received a vision or whatever in a very long time. At least not since the incident at Stull, which Dean wasn’t going to think about right now.

“We’re fine, Chuck. How about yourself?”

“Well you know, keeping busy! I figured if I made myself useful then I’d be less likely to drink and end up getting myself killed,” he says with a small laugh. His spoon scrapes against his empty bowl as he looks down.

A twinge of guilt hits Dean and he looks away from Chuck, his eyes focusing on the flurry of activity around the main gate. He wishes he could be a friend to Chuck, hell, to anyone. Half of the time he’s barely there for Cas, and that guilt alone could probably swallow him up alive. He smiles a half smile at Chuck, trying to be friendly despite how much he’s avoided any interaction with him in the months he’s been here.

“Let me know if you want some extra shooting lessons, man. Happy to help,” Dean says before shoveling the last of his soup into his mouth. He shoots one last grin at a Chuck before standing and gathering his stuff. After he’s done washing his dishes he pauses, taking a deep breath. The cold air whips around him and he shivers slightly. He doesn’t want to find Cas, not yet. Days off could sometimes be just as awful as days when he had to run on missions; too much time to think, to argue, to _feel_. Dean shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He heads towards the front gate, figuring they always need assistance anyway.

The front gate is watched 24/7, by no less than two people. They typically had at least one rookie with two veterans whenever possible but their numbers had been dwindling lately. It was getting rarer to find survivors to bring into the camp, and missions were more dangerous than ever. Dean hops up the make-shift steps to the top of the wall made from stacked and layered debris. He grins, checking his own gun, he sits down next to one of the rookies; Colin.

He’s done several overnight watches with Colin, and he is a bright kid. Terrible aim, but he is a good kid. Dean hates seeing a 16-year old holding a shotgun, staying up through the night waiting for any sign of movement; it reminds him too much of his own teen years. Sometimes Dean comes up here to get away, to make himself useful. He doesn’t mind it too much, and there’s a quiet serenity in focusing on only one task and nothing else.

“You workin’ on your aim, Colin?”

“When I can, man. I’m up here like…every night, or it feels like that. Pretty sure my mom’s gettin’ pissed about it,” Colin says, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean nods, pulling out his own gun again from his leg holster. “Did anyone show you how to clean and care for your gun?”

Colin rolls his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chin. “What do you think, Dean? Of course not. ..no one’s got time for that for some dumb kid who somehow managed to live through this and only knows how to play computer games and take tests.”

“Chill out, dude,” Dean says with a laugh. Looking over at the other person keeping patrol, he grins. “Hey, Scotty! You mind if I show Colin a few things here while you cover the watch?”

He waits for a thumbs-up sign in return and hands his gun over to Colin, setting the shotgun to the side. Dean teaches him slowly, going over the important parts several times. A nagging in his mind creeps in, and he pushes away the memories of teaching his younger brother in this same way, so many years ago.

Colin learns quickly, and apparently computer games gave him some information on guns because he isn’t as clueless as Dean expected. By the time Dean’s done going through the importance of gun maintenance and shown Colin a few tricks, the sun has started to set. It gets darker earlier now, which no one is too excited about. Dean contemplates offering to take the rest of Colin’s shift when he feels a familiar hand on his shoulder.

He looks behind him, his head tilting upwards and eyes squinting in the setting sun. Cas’ green “kiss me I’m Irish” shirt sets an immediate grin on Dean’s face again and he stands up, stretching. He places one hand on Colin’s light blonde hair and ruffles it slightly, ignoring the protests from the young teenager.

“I’m headin’ out, kid, keep us safe,” Dean says with a wink at Colin, trailing behind Castiel back to the inside of the camp.

“I thought I’d find you there,” Cas says, turning to face Dean, careful not to trip as he walks backwards.

“Yeah, well…yeah,” Dean says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He knows that’s not any sort of answer but he doesn’t really have one.

“I thought you’d come find me, let me know what Beckett wanted,” Cas says, no hint of a smile on his face.

Dean quickens his pace, catching up to Cas so that they can walk side by side. He fights the urge to wrap his arm around Castiel’s waist or to grab his hand and hold it in his. In fact, he feels embarrassed for a moment and his eyes scan the campground quickly for any sign of Beckett.

“Let’s get inside, ok?” he says, aware of his own paranoia, but also because his anger from earlier is returning.

Cas’ lips harden into a straight line and he rolls his eyes, quickening his pace. Dean’s not sure where Cas picked up that human trait, but he certainly doesn’t roll his eyes enough for it to be from _him_. He follows Castiel, stepping inside their cabin, he sheds his armor; removing his leg holster and gun, the knife tucked into the back of his belt. He takes a deep breathe, running his hands through his hair again and allows himself to take in the familiar smell of home.

He takes a step towards Cas, placing one hand on his hip, pretending to not notice the way that Cas hangs back, rather than fall into his touch. Dean pulls back, attempting to mask how much he hates Cas being upset with him. His eyes wander towards the bed and the large pile of clothing on top of it.

“Hey, thanks for washing all these, Cas,” he says as he absently picks up a shirt and begins to fold it.

“It was my turn,” Castiel responds quietly before making his way to stand behind Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his head against Dean’s shoulder.

“So you want to know what Beckett wanted, right?”

“Yes.”

Dean smirks and turns to face Cas, resisting the urge to throw Cas down on the bed right now. “You’re just nosy, Cas,” he says before turning back to fold another shirt. He is glad that his back is turned to Cas right now because he knows he’s deliberately pissing Cas off.

“Ok ok, well here you fold the pants ‘cus you suck at folding the shirts,” Dean says, throwing a pair of jeans at Cas over his shoulder. He hears some muttering before Cas walks around to the other side of the bed, diligently folding their clothing as requested.

Dean takes a deep breath before beginning, because this is a conversation he has avoided all day but he can’t put it off any longer without really getting in a fight with Cas, which is the opposite of what he needs right now.

“Well what he wanted was to kind of make me…next in line, I guess? In case anything happens to him and we need someone else to lead,” Dean begins, apprehensive. First of all, he’s not even sure he has what it takes to be _that_ kind of leader and what’s worse is that of course Cas is going to tell him that he _is_ , and it’s hard to accept that kind of praise except that Cas isn’t really the lying type. He pauses and lifts his eyes to meet Cas’, which are slightly clouded over, but a smile is spreading across his face.

“That’s good, Dean, right? I think you’d be a great leader, well you _are_ a great leader already.”

Dean can feel a blush creeping up onto his cheeks and he looks back down at his hands, messily folding the shirt in a rush. “Well…you gotta say that kind of shit, you’re sleeping with me,” he answers, looking up through his lashes and winking at Cas before dropping his eyes back down to his hands.

Castiel laughs, that kind of silent laugh that he has, where the corners of his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake slightly. Dean wishes he saw it more often, wishes they could be playful more often. He is hit in the face with a shirt and he blinks a few times before looking at Cas.

“You’d be our fearless leader, Dean, I’d say that even if we weren’t sleeping together,” Cas says with a smirk, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder where Cas picked up his sarcasm and dry sense of humor…well maybe he always had that sense of humor. He can’t help but relax a little bit more as he folds the shirt Cas threw at him.

“So, what did he say that upset you?”

There it is, Dean thinks, he doesn’t know why he’s still surprised when Cas reads him like an open book. He places his hands on his hips and shifts his weight from side to side before looking up at Cas.

“He said, ‘I won’t tolerate faggots’, or some bullcrap like that and I dunno, I hate that word…so you know, I had to cool off.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You say lots of offensive words Dean, what is it about that one?”

“I dunno, man! It wasn’t just the word itself but he was saying it about you.”

“And you,” Cas mumbles quietly.

“Well I don’t like it, ok, Cas? So I told him as much and let’s cross our fingers that we’re not kicked out of here too,” Dean says bitterly.

Cas crosses around the bed, dropping the clothing from his hands. He places both hands on Dean’s shoulders, squeezing slightly. “We won’t be, Dean.”

Dean nods and falls into Castiel’s touch, allowing Cas to wrap his arms around him and plant kisses on his forehead. If he thinks too much about what Beckett said, or what happened at Camp Chitaqua, he thinks he’ll end up feeling sick because on top of everything else in his life, he has to have his most serious relationship ever (are they even a relationship?) with a former angel who happens to be a male and he’s not sure he even knows how to build up walls to keep others from tearing this down.

They finish folding their clothing and put it away quietly, navigating around each other in a familiar ease. Dean finds solace in it, in not needing to fill the air with words. They dress for bed and Dean breathes in the fresh scent as he falls into their bed, closing his eyes as the darkness fills the room around him. He only vaguely realizes that he skipped dinner and he laughs to himself, thinking how Sam would have never believed it was possible. A sharp pain stings his heart and he clutches at the sheets with strained hands.

Cas turns to face him, worried etched into each line of his face. He’s already aged since falling; Dean can see it in the new wrinkles on his forehead, caused by the stresses of their lives.

“Dean?”

“Do you ever feel like we’re just running away from ghosts?”

“All the time,” Cas whispers quietly as one hand reaches up to run through Dean’s hair.

“If I remember him, it feels like drowning,” Dean says, and he wishes he didn’t sound so pathetic because he’s never been all about poetry but he honestly has no idea how to explain it. The crushing weight of what he’s lost and the fear that one day, all of his memories will pull him down like bricks until he can’t breathe anymore.

Cas leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, and pulls back. Dean swears that even in the dark, he can see galaxies in Castiel’s eyes.

“Sleep, Dean.”

Dean lets Cas pull him closer and for the second time in mere hours, he buries his head into the crook of Castiel’s neck, allowing the familiar touch and smell to calm him and bring him back to the present.

“Promise me, Cas, you’ll always pull me out.”

“Always.”

 


	10. Soma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing left to say  
> And all I've left to do  
> Is run away from you  
> She led me on, down  
> Secrets I can't keep"

December 2012

**Chapter 10: Soma**

Castiel wakes slowly; his limbs sprawled across the bed, roaming around looking for that extra bit of warmth. With a groan, he realizes that Dean probably hasn’t even been to bed yet, or maybe he slept a few hours and got up early again. The December chill has crept into each inch of the cabin, turning his breath into a hazy fog in front of his eyes. Castiel burrows beneath the covers for another moment, rubbing the tip of his cold nose, which hasn’t stopped running for a week now.

He reaches for his watch on the nightstand, his fingers stiff and cold. Castiel has tried not to complain, he really has, but he hates being sick. The winter air makes his lips chapped, his nose run, and his hands feel dry. On top of that, he’s lethargic, constantly sneezing, and he decides that this might be the worst part of being human. It’s nearly 7:00am, and he knows that he should already be up and dressed. He sits up, wrapping the covers around him for another moment, shivering. He can’t help but think that it would be a lot easier to sleep if Dean were in bed too, sharing his body heat. Instead, Dean’s been busy with Beckett for the past few weeks; training and being trained, all through the night and into most of the day. Castiel hates it.

They’d been skirting around the edges of something; words unsaid. He’s not sure what it is, but he can tell when Dean is keeping a secret. Maybe it’s some remnant of his grace in him, picking up on the finer details, attuning him into things. He’s tried to talk to Dean, to find out why he’s thrown himself into working with Beckett, despite the “incident”, which Dean has more than forgotten obviously. Castiel stands, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. He digs through their dresser for layers of clothing. There had been snow once already, which the camp wasn’t really prepared to deal with. He peers outside his window at the gray sky and small flurries floating through the air. Hopefully none of it sticks otherwise their mission today will be scrapped, Castiel thinks. He puts on a white waffle shirt with a grey shirt over it and then a button-down with a coat. The layers don’t exactly make it easy to move, but at least he won’t be freezing for most of the trip.

Strapping his watch on, Castiel stretches quickly, loosening the muscles in his legs and his shoulders before heading outside. He hopes vaguely that Dean will be going with them on this supply run; they have barely seen each other the last few weeks. Castiel has a strong suspicion that this is entirely intentional, maybe from Beckett…or Dean.

After he’s eaten a small breakfast, he heads for the group cabin, a few minutes early for their briefing. There’s still no sign of Dean and he shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, attempting to keep warm. By the time he gets inside, he’s sniffling like crazy and his eyes are watering slightly from the sharp wind. Bitterly he thinks that this might be a good time to relocate to the south, where at least they won’t freeze while fighting Croats and demons (if you were unlucky enough to find some).

Castiel closes the door, trying to keep the wind from slamming it shut, and he curses under his breath as he nearly catches his finger on the door.

“Hey, watch your fingers, Cas,” a voice says from behind him, a hint of amusement to his tone.

Castiel turns around quickly, attempting to mask the large grin that threatens to spread across his face. His spirits fall slightly as he notices how dark the circles are beneath Dean’s eyes, and way he is favoring one foot over the other as he steps towards him.

“Dean…”

“You still battling that cold?” Dean asks, pressing the back of his hand to Castiel’s forehead briefly before dropping his hand back to his side.

Castiel nods, rolling his eyes slightly. “It isn’t the most pleasant experience.”

“I could tell Beckett you’re sick, I don’t want you catching pneumonia or some shit, Cas,” Dean says, a small line forming between his eyebrows and his lips drawn tight.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel remarks, motioning towards Dean’s leg, “what about you?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, no worries,” Dean says, feigning a smile.

Before Castiel can respond, the door opens again, and more members of the camp stream in. Dean moves back, taking his place at the head of the table, laying out a large map. Castiel watches with interest, noting that Beckett still isn’t here. He tries to catch Dean’s eye, but Dean is busy pinning tacks into the map on the old wooden table, riddle with holes already from so many previous supply runs. Castiel looks back at his watch, 7:45am, and Dean promptly clears his voice.

Dean is the one who goes over the plans, explaining each point person and who would be running security while the others were inside. Castiel doesn’t mind this kind of supply run as much, particularly if the zone has been previously cleared. They have enough people for 8 cars, and are set to meet at a sporting store in a town about an hour away. They’ve been through there before, so they are hoping it is still relatively cleared. Castiel remembers stories of how they had thought it would be easier to fill a semi-truck bed full of supplies and drive it back to the camp. Thankfully they hadn’t been here for that one. The loud engine sound attracted Croats for nearly 30 miles before the driver noticed and thought to drive back out away from the camp. Since then, they’d stuck to loading small and quiet vehicles in large quantities; more work but safer.

When Dean is finished, he looks around at everyone, making sure there are no questions. Castiel feels a surge of pride, because this is something Dean is good at. He’s in his element, and for a moment his eyes sparkle again with purpose. Castiel hangs back, waiting for Dean, as the rest of the camp members file out. They have a few minutes before they leave, and the excitement has somewhat seeped into Castiel’s body as well and he feels a jittery with anticipation. At least they are going to pick up more acceptable winter gear and supplies for the camp, which is a top priority on his list right now.

Castiel stands back, waiting until the room is emptied. His hands are still in his pockets, shoved deep to keep warm. He watches as Dean rolls up the map, removing each pin quickly and quietly. Dean doesn’t say a word but Castiel notices the smallest upturn at the corner of his mouth as he packs up. When he finally looks at Castiel, he grins sheepishly.

“First run on my own, ya know? A little nervous considering the location…” he says, tugging on the hem of his jacket as he zips it up.

Castiel offers his most sincere smile, ignoring the urge to sniffle and cough in front of Dean. “You are doing great, and the shopping district should be fine, we cleared it a couple weeks ago.”

They fall into step with one another easily, pairing up as they always do. Castiel is glad that he didn’t have to ask about who he’d partner with, and they slide into their usual roles. Dean goes through the plan again once they are in the car and Castiel listens, correcting minor flaws when he notices them and suggesting better tactics. They do this each time before a mission, which seems to calm them both.

The ride isn’t long and they arrive first, leading a small caravan of vehicles. Each group breaks off to sweep the area, checking the parking lot and entrances to the sports shop. Once they’ve all returned, they take turns filling their cars with as much as they can carry. Two groups go in at a time, the rest keeping watch and putting down stray Croats that wander too close (before they can make too much noise). Once half of the cars are loaded, Dean and Castiel enter with a few other people. Dean gives his whistle over to one of the women standing guard at the entrance and gives her a stern reminder to use it the second there’s any sign of more than five Croats.

***

Dean doesn’t follow Castiel immediately, instead checking each group, ensuring they are loading their stuff efficiently. The store is massive, each aisle still stocked with the majority of its original items. Dragging a cart behind him, Dean begins throwing winter clothing in, packing in as many jackets and sweaters as possible. Relaxing slightly, he continues through the large center aisle, clothing racks scattered in groups.

He pauses to look at several snow suits, wondering if this would be worth the space this time. Dean runs his fingers over the strong fabric, trying not to laugh when he suddenly imagines Beckett wearing one of these. As he backs up absently, he hits another warm body and he swears under his breath as he turns around. He stops, his words catching in his mouth.

“Jesus, Cas,” he says, his eyes traveling up and down Castiel’s body. The image is embarrassingly endearing and he can’t believe that the first thing that pops into his head is “you look cute”. Thankfully he doesn’t say that out loud. Castiel is wearing a black snowsuit, the arm straps hanging down, the zipper only done up to his waist. It doesn’t help that Cas’ hair is an absolute mess and the tip of his nose is still red.

“Is this alright?” Cas asks, sniffling slightly, holding his arms out for inspection. “I’ve never had to wear winter clothing before.”

Dean smiles and puts his hands on the hanging straps of Castiel’s snowsuit. “Ya, Cas…this is good.”

A moment passes and Dean finds himself watching the way Cas’ tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips and he longs to press himself against those lips. He doesn’t mind that Cas is sick right now, but Dean feels a little guilty for bringing Cas when he’s clearly still battling a cold. He looks around, wary of any wandering eyes. Pulling Cas closer by his straps, Dean places a chaste kiss against Castiel’s lips before drawing back quickly.

He tells Cas to hurry up, finish filling his cart, and meet him at the front of the store. As Dean stuffs a few more winter essentials into his own cart, a sharp pull at his elbow stops him. He glares as he stops, looking at Risa.

“You should be on outside patrol,” he hisses, keeping his voice low.

“I had to grab something real quick,” she says, waving a white snowsuit in front of him. Dean’s heart stops for a moment before scowling further.

“You got it then, so go.”

Risa looks concerned for a moment, unsure of whether to continue. “I saw you…with Cas,” she says finally, narrowing her eyes.

“You saw nothing,” he says, his voice suddenly full of malice. Dean can practically hear his heart in his ears and his fists are clenched at his sides.

“Hey, I don’t care, ok? I’m just saying…be careful. Beckett hates that shit and you’re his favorite right now…but watch it.”

Risa doesn’t wait for his response, jogging quickly back to the front of the store. Dean’s vision swims in front of him and for a moment he feels lightheaded. He doesn’t really trust Risa, but something tells him that she wasn’t lying to him either. “Fuck,” he says, hitting his cart with a clenched hand. He takes a few deep breaths, ignoring the urge to look for Cas.

Instead, Dean focuses on his mission, completing it, and getting back to the safety of his cabin. He loads up his car quietly, keeping his eyes open for any Croat movement outside. Once each car is loaded and packed, he locks the doors with a chain and lock, hoping that it won’t be picked through next time when they return. As Castiel settles in the passenger seat, Dean gives him a weak smile.

“You’re gonna get way too hot wearing all those layers in the car, Cas,” he says and he starts the car.

Cas just shrugs and smiles back. “I’m cold,” he says, pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket and sliding his hands through them.

***

By the time they return to the camp, the sun is setting and they need to rush to unload each car while there’s still enough light to see by. The group cabin is full of supplies now, all needing to be inventoried and given out the next day. Dean doesn’t envy Chuck’s job at all. The remainder of his duties go by in a blur and he wonders absently if he should report back to Beckett. He shakes his head as he remembers what Risa said, and decides to put it off until tomorrow.

He wonders vaguely if he should check on Cas, but there seems to be this divide between them that has grown more expansive with each passing day. He knows he has to tell Cas about the colt, about why he’s been working so hard with Beckett…because maybe Beckett will trust him enough to let him do this. He just doesn’t know how to bring it up, how to bring up the memories that have been haunting him more frequently, making it harder to move on.

Dean absently wanders towards Abby’s cabin, wondering if maybe he can get some medicine for Cas’ cold. If the world wasn’t ending and gone to shit, he’d have made some real soup for Cas, with crackers and ginger ale…the kind of thing he used to do for Sammy. He doesn’t even know if they’ve ever picked up any medicine for the small things, but he thinks he can maybe try. Or maybe it’s just the guilt finally eating away at him for how distant he’s been towards Cas.

He knocks on Abigail’s door and is quickly greeted with a warm smile. “Hey, haven’t seen you around much,” she says grinning, holding her door open for him to come in.

“Yeah, been busy, you know,” he says, looking around her cabin. “I see you got some more supplies…that’s good.”

“The last few supply runs have been successful, so I’m thankful for that.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything for a cold, would you?” Dean asks, rubbing his hands together to get the circulation flowing in them again.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick too!” she exclaims, stepping over to the rack holding all the medications.

Dean laughs and shakes his head, “No, it’s not for me. Cas has a nasty cold.”

Abby turns back around slowly, lifting an eyebrow. “I gave him some Nyquil yesterday, so he better not be out of it yet.”

She looks expectantly at Dean for an answer and he opens his mouth, fumbling slightly for words. “I didn’t ask him if he had medicine, I just assumed…so yah, I’m sure he still has tons left.”

“Keep an eye on him, Dean,” she says, gently placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean gives her a confused look, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Ya, I will,” he says again, a small kernel of worry settles itself in his mind. “Well,” he pauses “I should go check on him then,” he says. Abby nods and gives him a small wave as he leaves. He barely looks back as he strides quickly to his cabin.

He swings the door open, stepping inside and slamming the door. His eyes come to rest on Castiel who is curled underneath the covers but not quite asleep. Dean doesn’t say a word but his eyes scan their small room, finally settling on the empty bottle of Nyquil on the top of their dresser. He grabs it and stomps over to Cas, flinging the bottle onto the bed.

“What the hell is this, Cas?” he yells, his eyes widening with anger.

Rather than look embarrassed or upset, Castiel looks calm and collected as he says, “It’s medication, Dean. I took it because I’m sick.”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You’ve had this for only a day…there’s no way you should have emptied the whole bottle.”

Anger builds inside him and he vaguely wonders if this is how Cas felt watching him drink all those times, drink entire bottles of whiskey after they lost Sam and again after they lost Bobby. He looks at Castiel again, and shockingly realizes that Cas must be on some sort of loopy high from his medication.

“I can’t sleep and _you’re_ never here, Dean. I needed it to sleep. So if you don’t mind…” he says, a drowsy look on his face as he pulls the covers closer to him.

“Fuck that, Cas! Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Dean. In fact, you’re the one avoiding _me_ and keeping secrets. So please, let me sleep. My head hurts.”

Dean’s not sure he’s every felt this sort of anger towards Cas before, at least not in a long time. His fists are balled tightly at his sides and it’s taking every ounce of restraint not to punch the wall next to him, or maybe just punch Cas instead.

“What do you want to know? Maybe if you stopped moping around and tried to be more _useful_ , then I’d have more time to talk to you! Dammit, Cas.”

Castiel looks down at his fingers, pulling the sheets up to his chin and closing his eyes. When he pauses and takes a deep breath, Dean knows what’s coming next. He wishes he hadn’t started this fight because it all boils down to him. When Castiel finally speaks, it comes out quiet, almost a whisper.

“I heard you pray to him.”

“What?” Dean says, confused.

“To Michael.”

Realization hits him hard in the chest and Dean unclenches his fists slowly, sagging against the wall. All the mornings and late nights when he’d been struggling to sleep, or they’d lost someone on a mission. He’d started praying to Michael again, begging him to clean this mess up; to fix the world again because he can’t.

“Fuck,” Dean says, sliding down the side of the wall, settling on the floor. “What do you want me to say, Cas?”

“There’s nothing to say, Dean. I’m useless, as you said yourself. I’m not an angel anymore, I can’t fix any of this for you, and I’m sorry about all of it.”

Dean picks himself off the floor slowly, not raising his eyes from the ground. Shame and guilt threaten to consume him and he’s not sure where to begin, so he starts on familiar territory. He removes his jacket, and his several layers of clothing. Next he removes his gun and his leg holster, dropping them on the floor. Reaching across the bed, he grabs the empty Nyquil bottle and throws it across the room, out of sight.

Crawling slowly across the bed, Dean settles down parallel to Cas, finally bringing his eyes up to meet his. He takes a deep breath and pulls Castiel closer to him. He knows he’s flawed, in almost every way possible, but he’s not too full of pride that he can’t apologize. This is all on him, it’s what he has always done. Maybe it’s why Sammy left too, all those years ago. Dean let’s those he loves get hurt, and since he’s only got Cas left now, he can’t let this break.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s head. He pauses, looking at Cas again.

“I know,” Cas says, giving Dean a weak smile.

“Look, I’ve umm, I’ve been thinking about something for a while. I know I should have talked to you about it sooner, but I’m talking to you now, ok?” Dean says nervously, his fingers pulling back to rest in his lap.

“Ok?”

“I want to look for the colt.”

Castiel’s eyes widen and he leans back away from Dean again, “Why the hell do you want to do that?”

Dean instantly misses the gentle warmth from Cas’ body and the security that came with his proximity. “I can’t just stagnate, Cas! I feel like I’m suffocating if I’m not trying to do something. We’re not living, we’re just surviving…”

“I knew this would come back up,” Cas says quietly, leaning against Dean’s shoulder again. “This is what will get us killed,” he pauses and looks up at Dean again, “I don’t know how I know it, but I do.”

Dean presses his hand to Castiel’s forehead and feigns a smile. “Sure it’s not your sickness talking, or all that damn Nyquil?”

“It’s not.”

“Ok, ok, well I promise we’ll be careful,” he looks down at Cas again, “are you in?”

Castiel pauses, sniffling slightly and leaning back against the pillow slowly, his eyes drooping.

“Yes.”

 


	11. Tomorrow Never Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So play the game "Existence" to the end  
> Of the beginning, of the beginning"

**Chapter 11: Tomorrow Never Knows**

The wind howls, rattling the sides of the wooden cabin and Castiel sits upright in bed. He doesn’t need to look over at Dean to know that Dean is fighting a nightmare right now. His body is drenched in sweat and he’s curled into a ball, his eyes moving quickly behind his eyelids. Castiel leans over gently, wrapping an arm around Dean and pulling him tightly to his chest. He waits for Dean’s breathing to even out again before attempting to wake him. If he could use the last bit of grace in him, he would draw the nightmares from Dean’s head and pull them into himself. He can’t stand the helpless feeling of watching him suffer, and Castiel’s sure that this is his punishment.

Gently he rolls Dean over to face him, his fingers brushing Dean’s damp hair from his forehead. Dean wakes slowly, rolling his head from side to side as if shaking off the remnants of his dream. His eyes flutter open and Castiel thinks to himself, not for the first time, that Dean is beautiful. Even in the early morning hours with the sun barely up, and the bitterest chill imaginable in the room, Castiel can see the small light of Dean’s soul and it lights up the room.

Dean shivers, sliding closer to Castiel beneath the covers, grinning as he snakes his cold fingers up the layers of shirts Castiel is wearing. Castiel hisses and pulls back, feigning an angry stare.

“Mornin’” Dean mumbles, burrowing his nose into Castiel’s chest.

“Sorry to wake you, you were having a nightmare,” Castiel says, wrapping his arms around Dean again.

“S’okay,” he pauses before looking up, “hey, today’s Christmas, did you know?”

“I might have known…”Castiel says; a small smile on his face. “Remember last year…before the outbreak?”

“Mmhm,” Dean mumbles, pulling Castiel on top of him, seating him in his lap. “We were hunting a shifter and we got banged up pretty bad,” Dean laughs. “Bobby still had that damn tree up for us though when we got back; used that excuse about you experiencing it even though we slept through the whole day.”

Castiel leans forward, kissing Dean gently on the lips. Even this simple touch sends his heart racing and his palms sweating despite the temperature. “I liked that tree,” he says, nipping gently at Dean’s throat. “But I don’t have a gift for you again this year, Dean,” he says as he trails kisses down Dean’s body, holding Dean’s hips down firmly into the mattress.

“I could think of a few things you could do for me,” Dean says, slightly breathless, as he throws his head back against his pillow and closes his eyes.

Castiel can already feel Dean hardening beneath his sweatpants and he smiles to himself. He lifts Dean’s shirt above his head, tossing it eagerly to the floor. Despite the cold air and raging snowstorm outside, their body heat is quickly warming up the space. Castiel shrugs out of his own layers, pressing his chest against Dean’s once again. Closing his eyes, he sucks on the soft skin of Dean’s chest, working his way upwards to his neck again. Dean moans softly, arching slightly upwards against Castiel.

Their hips slot together easily in a familiar and comfortable way as they press together, each one holding on for stability; Castiel’s hands gripping Dean’s shoulders and Dean’s fingers leaving indentations on Castiel’s hips. Castiel can feel his own erection pressing annoyingly against his own pants so he slides off Dean’s lap for only a moment, removing his pants at a lightening-speed.

He does the same for Dean, yanking his pants down in urgency. It dawns on him for a moment how every cell in his body yearns and aches for Dean, for this intimacy and nearness that might be the closest humans get to experiencing the divine. His heart races in his chest and he licks his dry lips as he settles himself onto Dean’s lap again.

Dean smiles, leaning up to run a hand through Castiel’s hair, he tugs on it gently. Castiel leans down and presses his mouth against Dean’s, weaving his tongue in and out as he moves his hips against Dean. Their straining erections rub together, pre-come dripping onto their stomachs messily as they slot their hips against one another. Castiel closes his eyes, moaning loudly, struggling to hold on.

He stops, pulling back from Dean for a moment. He pulls open a drawer on the nightstand next to the bed, fumbling around. Once his fingers clasp around the bottle, he smiles back at Dean, holding it up.

“The world goes to shit, but we still have lube…what a wonder,” Dean says laughing as he pulls Castiel closer to him again for a deep kiss.

Castiel coats his fingers in the cool gel, rubbing it between his hands hoping to warm it up slightly. He presses gently against Dean’s opening, going slowly with one finger. He watches as a red flush creeps across Dean’s chest and neck as he gasps slightly, his fingers curled tightly around the bed sheets below them. Castiel keeps his own body positioned above Dean, kissing him periodically and checking to make sure that he is not hurting him too much.

Of course, some part of Dean relishes the slight mix of pain with pleasure and he quickly tells Castiel that he can take more; which Castiel fulfills. They move slowly together, Castiel scissoring his fingers inside Dean, and Dean slowly pumping Castiel’s own cock, squeezing tightly at the base and twisting gently with each stroke.

They are tender initially, each stroke gentle and deliberate, but it snowballs into a cascade of hormones and need. Dean loosens his grip on Castiel’s cock as soon as Castiel’s fingers hit that one spot, and he throws his head back, moaning loudly.

“Ok, Cas, I’m ready,” he says, placing his hands on Castiel’s strong hips. Castiel fits the condom quickly before proceeding and applying more lube.

He moves slowly in, relishing the tightness around his strained dick, and it’s enough to nearly send him over the edge already. Instead he grips Dean’s hips, his fingers pressing dark indents, sure to leave bruises later. He moans as he enters fully, pausing to look at Dean, who nods. He holds himself still for a moment, feeling the pulsing of the blood in his body and as if each part of him is a part of Dean.

“Fuck, Cas,” he says breathlessly, pulling Castiel in tighter.

Castiel begins to move slowly, pulling out slightly before moving back in. As Dean relaxes and throws his head back against the pillow, his lips parted in a perfect circle, Castiel moves more furiously. As he angles himself slightly upward, he hits Dean’s prostate and he opens his eyes briefly to watch Dean come undone. Dean’s fingers wrap around Castiel’s hips, his eyes flutter open and closed as he bites his lip to keep from screaming. Dean’s own cock is erect and leaking again his stomach.

Castiel grabs Dean’s penis, pumping it in motion with his movements. His thumb moves over the slit and slides back down, moistening the rest of Dean’s dick. This is nearly enough to finish Dean, and Castiel moves faster and harder, close to the edge himself.

As they tumble, Dean cries out and Castiel throws his head back, thrusting roughly one last time. Dean spills out over his hand and Castiel’s vision goes out for a second as pleasure overtakes him, threading throughout every inch of his body. When he pulls back out carefully from Dean, he smiles widely.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean pulls Cas down for a chaste kiss before pushing him back off again. Castiel laughs, rubbing his stubble against Dean’s stomach as he slides back off Dean. He grabs a towel from the bathroom, wetting it in the cold water basin next to the sink. He wipes himself down quickly before shivering and crawling back into bed to wipe Dean off as well.

“I still can’t believe you were a virgin when we met, Cas,” Dean says, shaking his head as he snuggles beneath the covers again. “You’ve got a crazy libido! Which by the way, we won’t be doing that again for a few days,” he says with a wink.

Castiel smiles, pulling Dean in tightly against him again as they try to hold on to their elevated body heat from before. In moments like these he almost forgets that outside their window is a snowstorm, and there are zombie-like creatures and demons ruling everything. He can almost forget that sometimes him and Dean are as if they are made for each other, and then other times they have a great divide between them. His clings to Dean, running his hands through his soft hair.

“I like doing that with you,” Castiel says, wincing because he knows it sounds incredibly sappy. Sure enough, Dean pokes him in the ribs, raising his eyebrows.

Dean changes the subject as he turns his head to face the window and feels the wind batter against their cabin once again. “Of course it’s damn snowing like a blizzard out there and I have midnight watch with Beckett.”

Castiel shivers again and Dean pulls away to grab some clothing from the floor. Castiel watches him get dressed; pulling his arms through his multiple layers of shirts. Dean tosses some clothing to Castiel after sniffing it to make sure it is clean enough. It’s probably Dean’s turn to do laundry but in this weather, it’s difficult to get the chance.

“How’s everything going with Beckett? Have you talked to him about the colt yet?” Castiel asks carefully, hoping this won’t dampen Dean’s good mood.

Dean shrugs as he walks back over to the bed and sitting next to Castiel. “A little but nothing is really solid or planned yet. I think he just wants to get through winter right now.”

Castiel looks back outside and he can hear the howling of the wind distantly through the trees. “I don’t blame him.”

Dean nods and crawls back underneath the covers, pulling Castiel against him again. “Let’s try to get some sleep, ok? You’re off today and I have midnight watch.”

He can’t help agreeing as a deep sleepiness takes root in his bones and a content laziness lulls him to sleep. Castiel allows himself to be held by Dean, letting go of his consciousness, a small and rare smile on his face as he drifts somewhere between his dreams and nightmares.

 


	12. Little Lion Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tremble, little lion man,  
> You'll never settle any of your scores  
> Your grace is wasted in your face,  
> Your boldness stands alone among the wreck"

**Chapter 12: Little Lion Man**

As Dean piles on layers of clothing he smiles at Castiel, who is curled up in the bed and reading a book. It’s nearly midnight and luckily the wind has slowed somewhat and snow is no longer falling. They’d eaten indoors today, staying away from some of the contrived holiday festivities which either meant civilian camp members pretending the world wasn’t ending, or everyone else who was drinking.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots, struggling to bed over with all his layers of clothing. Thankfully they started cutting shifts shorter in the winter months, so he’d only be outside until 4am, but he doesn’t want to freeze for four hours in the meantime.

“What are you reading?” he asks as he zippers his coat up and places a hat on his head.

Castiel looks at the cover of his book momentarily. “Brave New World.”

“You’re reading a dystopian book when we live in one?”

“It’s interesting,” Cas says, shrugging his shoulders. “One of the women in the camp had it and lent it to me.”

“I’ll give ya that, it’s definitely an interesting book,” Dean says with a grin. “Let me know what you think of the end.”

“I will, I should be done with it soon.”

“Well don’t stay up too late, Cas. I’ll be back in four hours. We’ve got another supply run early tomorrow.”

Castiel nods, opening his book again and giving Dean a small wave goodbye. Dean steps outside; the sharp air immediately freezing the air in his legs and causing his legs to stiffen. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he walks towards the camp entrance.

***

Dean leans back as he stifles a yawn, holding onto his shotgun firmly in one hand. He slides his eyes over to where Beckett is standing, a somber look in his eyes. He’s gotten closer to Beckett in the last few weeks, working day in and day out on camp duties together. He can tell when Beckett is hung-over and shouldn’t be messed with; he gets the same distant and cold look in his eye that his father used to get. Right now though, he can’t read him, not like he usually can.

“Hey Beckett, something wrong?”

Beckett looks sideways for a moment before looking back outside their camp. “This isn’t sharing hour, Dean. Keep your eyes straight.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, looking forwards again.

Nearly another hour passes before either of them says anything again. Sometimes it is quiet watching the camp entrance, especially on the night shifts. Dean doesn’t usually mind the silence, but it bothers him tonight. The cold air whips around them, numbing the tips of their noses and fingers. Dean is startled when Beckett speaks suddenly, his voice deep and sad.

“It’s been almost a year you know. Since all of _this_ bullshit started,” he says, gesturing around him.

Dean nods politely, indeed having noticed they are nearing January, the one year mark of many deaths. He hates to think of it, to remember. For him though, he mourns the loss of Bobby last March, and he can’t even bring himself to remember May of 2010. He figures time is supposed to make it easier but he hasn’t found that to be true yet.

“Who did you lose?” he asks, genuinely curious for the first time, realizing that he knows nothing about Beckett, not really. He knows which gun Beckett prefers, which side he has some hearing loss in (so never talk to him on that side), and he knows that Beckett’s probably lost someone important to him because who hasn’t?

Beckett looks down at has hands, setting his gun aside for a moment as he runs his hands through his hair, exhaling loudly. “My wife and my two girls,” he says after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, keeping his eyes trained forwards on the open path to the camp.

“Me too. There was nothing I could do at the time. It’s taken me a while to admit that, but there it is.”

Dean looks at Beckett, giving him an encouraging look. He’s never been one to talk about feelings but this is different. Part of him wishes he could have talked to his dad in this way too, found out how he handled losing their mom and everything. In fact, Dean finds himself oddly curious, so he ventures to press Beckett a little more. “How old were they? Your daughters, I mean.”

“11 and 13,” Lenn says smiling forlornly, “they were just getting to that teenager stage.” He pulls out a photo from his coat pocket, his blue eyes smiling as he hands it over for Dean to look at. “I came home one day, all of them were turned. I didn’t know it until it was too late. I guess it’s always too late with the Croatoan virus…but I didn’t even know the signs.”

Dean looks down at the worn photo, rubbing his fingers gently over the creases and wrinkles across it. Two girls with bright blue eyes and blonde hair are beaming at the camera as they open presents. An older woman, with the same blonde hair is beside them, her eyes on the girls instead of the camera but she has a large smile on her face. Dean clears his throat, trying to keep his eyes from misting over as he hands Beckett back his photo.

“You were in Chicago right?”

“Yup.”

“One of the first places hit. There was no way to be ready for this kind of thing,” Dean says, hoping he sounds reassuring. Of course, he had known what it was. He and Sammy had seen it years before, and maybe if he hadn’t been such a mess he could have warned someone…the government…someone, and maybe people would still have their families. Dean looks down at his hands again before shoving them in his coat pockets again. He thinks about asking Beckett now about the colt, about telling him how maybe they can fix this world again, because he _has_ to fix it, the blame lies with him for all of it. Looking back at Beckett again though, he changes his mind. It would be unfair to do today, not today. Maybe tomorrow; of course that was how he had been about telling Cas too.

“Hey, boy, you hear that?” Beckett whispers suddenly, raising his gun and setting the spotlight further back onto the trail entrance.

Dean pauses, listening intently. There are crunching footsteps, approaching slowly, accompanied by heavy breathing. His heart stops for a moment; there have never been Croats this close to the camp before! “Shit,” he says under his breath.

“Quiet. If there’s a few Croats we gotta take them out quietly in case there are more nearby,” Beckett says, pulling his knife out and pointing at the crossbow.

Dean sets down his gun and picks up the crossbow, his numb fingers making it more difficult to hold. His eyes widen as feet shuffle into the beam of the spotlight and soon a whole figure is visible, just an outline. Dean aims, ready to fire an arrow, inhaling and preparing to exhale with his shot.

“Please, help,” the figure says, shuffling closer slowly. Dean can make out another figure draped over its back and he drops his weapon immediately.

“It’s a kid!” he says to Beckett, his green eyes wide in surprise.

“I’m going to wake Abigail; you try talking to her but don’t let her in. She could be contaminated,” Beckett says before leaving, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, his eyes still glued to the young girl who has collapsed to her knees and set down the child she was carrying on her back. He’s been tricked before, so he tries not to feel too much compassion for her right now; for all he knows she’s a demon, or maybe she’s infected and doesn’t even know it yet…in which case she’s screwed either way.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asks, keeping his question impersonal.

The young girl, she looks around 15, raises her head and her dark brown eyes meet Dean’s finally. “Carys,” she says, surprising Dean with her accent.

“Are you British?” he says, his own question tumbling out of his mouth before he can help it.

“Welsh,” she says, not hiding the fact that she is rolling her eyes. “Please, can you let us in?”

“Not yet, Carys,” he says, his tone softening as her face falls and she runs a hand through a mess of long red hair. She pulls the small boy off her back and sets him in front of her, waking him quietly. Dean watches with interest as the little boy looks back up at him and then nods at the young girl, sitting down in her lap. They both look up at him expectantly, their eyes wide and their lips a pale blue from the cold. He wrings his hands together nervously, cursing under his breath at the time it is taking to gather the usual crew. They haven’t had as many survivors come to the camp, at least not ones that aren’t already infected. Thankfully the sound of approaching footsteps alerts him to a group being ready to look at Carys and the young boy with her.

***

Carys and her brother, Tristan, are checked thoroughly for any signs of being contaminated. Abby curses the fact that they have nothing but primitive means as she checks over both children. Dean checks to see if they are demons, using the longer methods rather than cutting the children with his knife.

Throughout it, Carys talks about how she survived, and another camp she’d been at for a while before it got overrun. She hugs her arms to her chest, shivering as she waits for Abby to finish checking her over. She’s thin, and her blue veins are visible easily beneath her pale skin. Her brother is quieter, speaking only when spoken to and he doesn’t let go of his sister’s jacket.

Dean checks his watch as he sees the sun coming up, the gentle rays of sunshine filtering in to the locked cabin. Chuck runs through the camp procedures with Carys and Tristan, pausing to check his dwindling list of civilians for any adults who might take them in.

“We’re quite fine on our own. Always have been,” Carys says as she watches him flip through diagrams of cabin locations and their tenants. She runs her hands through her hair, color beginning to appear in her cheeks again and her lips. Chuck looks at Beckett who nods his approval.

“Ok, well you guys can come with me. You’re not infected so you’re welcome here. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

Carys hops down from the table she was sitting on, placing her hands on her hips. She looks between Beckett and Dean, deciding eventually to focus her gaze on Beckett. “So what do we do here to pull our weight?”

“You’re kids, you’re not doing anything besides helping with the cooking,” Beckett says, looking confused for a moment.

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean? What were you doing before?” Dean asks incredulously, narrowing his eyes.

“Scouting,” she says with a shrug, “kids are the smallest and fastest. We’re more likely to get away and warn the camp if some creeps are nearby.”

“Creeps?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrow, “that sounds stupid.”

“Your face is stupid,” she responds.

“Well, your face…is more stupid,” Dean says, stuttering. He has no idea why he is arguing with a teenager but she breaks out into a large smile and laughs for the first time since arriving. “Ok, Croats or creeps, whatever. We don’t send kids out here, so get used to helping in other ways.”

Carys rolls her eyes again and shrugs, “that works for me.” Her brother reaches for her hand, his large brown eyes wide as he looks up at Dean and Carys runs a hand through his dark red hair. They follow Chuck out of the cabin, and everyone else in the room collectively let out large sighs of relief.

“Can you believe that?” Abby asks as she shakes her head and packs up her medical supply kit.

“That sounded bad the way she put it but we’ve got kids like Colin running patrol too,” Dean says, looking carefully at Beckett, who narrows his eyes.

“Watch it, Winchester.”

Dean shrugs and begins to follow Abby out of the cabin. “As long as we’re done here, is it cool to get some shut-eye?”

Beckett nods, looking as if his mind is a million miles away. “Yeah, sure.”

 


	13. Lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is a storm in the distance  
> The wind breathing warning of its imminence  
> There is a lighthouse five hundred yards down  
> You and I will be safe there"

January 2013

**Chapter 13: Lighthouse**

“Ok, now grip the back-strap with your dominant hand first,” Dean says, showing Carys first and then handing her the gun.

“I already _know_ this stuff, Dean,” she says, rolling her eyes and pulling the gun up to aim at the target ahead, dropping her left hand to her side.

“Stop, stop,” Dean says, coming up behind her to grab the gun from her hand. “You never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire and you should be firing the handgun with both hands on it.”

Dean hears someone chuckle quietly behind him and he whips around, his hands on his hips. “Do you need something?” he asks, exasperated.

Cas holds his hands up apologetically in surrender, “I was just curious about this training you were doing today.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes.

“Hey, if your boyfriend still doesn’t know how to fire a gun then you can’t get on _my_ case,” Carys says.

Dean rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed puff of air as he looks at Cas for some help. He can’t help but wonder how a teenage girl can be so perceptive, intelligent, strong…and still so damn annoying.

Castiel walks up and grabs the gun from Dean’s hand with a wink before stepping in front of Carys and firing three perfect rounds into the target. He smirks and hands the gun back to Carys and walks back towards the camp with a wave before shoving his hands back into his pockets. Dean looks at Carys with a grin, “What can I say, he was a perfect student?”

“You’re such a perv,” she says rolling her eyes again but Dean notices that she listens more intently and it thankfully takes half as long to instruct her.

***

Castiel pulls his coat collar up as he crosses the campground, amused by Carys and Dean together. It reminds him of better days, and he’s noticed that Dean relaxes a lot more around people when he is teaching them. Castiel loves to watch him, even when Dean tells him he’s being creepy. He supposes that he’s had so many years of watching history unfold but he’s never been a participant. Even now, he struggles to remember that he has a place in this world, as more than a bystander.

He walks to Abby’s cabin, knocking gently on the door. She opens it, her eyes widening in surprise. “Hey, Cas, what’s up?”

He looks down at the ground, unsure of how to proceed. “I’ve been getting bad headaches, do you have any more painkillers?” he pauses again, “I’m sorry.”

“Already?” she says as she opens the door, inviting him in. “Have you told Dean about this?”

“No,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t want to worry him.”

“Well I’ll tell you now, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“I know.” Castiel looks anywhere but at her, his eyes focusing on a bottle of rum on her dining table. He looks back at her, raising her eyebrows.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she says quietly, walking over to a framed photo by her bed. “I get today, just today, to remember them.”

Castiel steps beside her, watching as she runs her hand over the photograph. She pulls back away quickly, forcing a laugh.

“I’m sorry. And I understand.” Castiel says, wondering if he should try to give her a hug. He steps forward awkwardly before stepping back again and patting her on the arm.

“Anyway, sorry,” she says, reaching up to grab a bottle of low-dose painkillers from her supply and marking it down quickly on her sign-out sheet. “Here you go…just don’t take too much, ok?”

He nods and smiles. “I will talk to Dean about it. I promise.”

Castiel wanders back outside, facing the bitter cold again. His boots crunch in the snow and the wind stings his nose and cheeks. He pulls his hat lower over his ears and his scarf tighter around his neck. He wouldn’t have thought he’d hate the cold this much, but he does. His clothing is constricting and makes him sluggish, and the hours without sunlight make everything more dangerous.

As he walks through the camp he observes the different people. The civilians, a few mothers with small children and young boys who will eventually be made to fight too. The camp is somber today, and there are no supply runs. In fact, as he looks around, he notices that it is quieter too. Not that they are ever loud, but even the usual hushed sound of conversation is absent.

Castiel’s eyes soften as he notices Dean eating alone at one of the tables by the food tent. He quickens his step, considering wrapping his arms around Dean in a rare display of affection but he stops that train of thought immediately. Instead he slides into the seat across from Dean, his heart warming as Dean gives him a gentle smile.

“Hey,” Dean says, knocking his knees against Castiel’s beneath the table.

Castiel grins, stealing several crackers from Dean’s plate. “Hello, Dean.”

“Get your own food if you’re hungry, man,” Dean says with his mouth full. Castiel just shrugs and continues stealing food from Dean’s plate.

“Did Carys get a hang of things after I left?” Castiel asks, a small smirk on his face.

“Yes, thank you very much, although I wish the same thing would work with Colin,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

Castiel wants to ask why Dean let Carys refer to him as Dean’s boyfriend but he holds his tongue. He looks around for Beckett, scanning the campground.

“You’re good with kids, Dean.”

“Yeah, I like them. Even if they can get annoying and stuff, they’re innocent. I wish they could stay like that.”

Castiel nods and steals more food from Dean’s plate. He can’t help but wonder if Beckett’s going to start making Carys run patrols and take watch shifts as well but the look on Dean’s face tells him that it might be the case. He decides to change the subject, shifting over to drinking the warm coffee from Dean’s mug instead of eating.

“I spoke with Abby today,” Castiel says slowly.

“Oh ya?”

“She seemed to imply that today was an important date and I’ve noticed the camp seems…somber today. Do you know why, Dean?”

“Shit, man. Today’s the one year date from when the virus was released in all the major cities. I bet almost everyone here lost someone.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, pushing the cup of coffee back towards Dean. He closes his eyes for a moment and he realizes why he’d never even noticed what month it was when the virus was released that devastated humanity. He had just become one of them. Warm hands wrap around his and Castiel looks up, startled.

“Hey, Cas. It’s ok, you know? You had shit going on at that time too.”

Castiel nods slowly, lost in his thoughts of the past.

***

That night there’s a small vigil service held by one of the older women at camp, Castiel recalls her name being Karla or Katherine, he’s not sure. She was a minister at a church prior to the apocalypse and she organized a small service. Castiel hadn’t particularly wanted to attend, and neither had Dean, but they felt obligated to at least make an appearance. They had sat in the back and pretended to say prayers with everyone else. Really, Castiel might have found it endearing if he wasn’t so averse to the idea of God and prayer.

As the service ends and the children go to sleep, several of the adults hang out the campfire. Some of them talk to one another, some sit quietly, but a lot of them drink. Castiel looks at Dean who is standing to the side of him, cheeks red and flushed from the cold, his breath making a small cloud in front of him as he breathes. Again, Castiel fights the urge to wrap around Dean, to run his hands through his hair and to steal his icy breath with a kiss.

Dean catches Castiel watching him and winks, as if he knows exactly what Castiel is thinking. “You wanna stick around here for a bit and then go to bed?” Dean asks suggestively, wagging his eyebrows up and down for good measure.

Castiel leans closer to Dean’s ear, lowering his voice in a way that he knows turns Dean on, “I would like that.”

Before Dean can respond, Castiel feels an arm thrown around his shoulder and he looks between him and Dean at Abby. Her cheeks are flushed and she has a silly smile on her face that causes her eyes to nearly close. She pulls away from them and pats them each on the cheek with a gloved hand.

“You two are adorable, and you should be drinking with me!” she says, holding up her bottle of rum.

Castiel rolls his eyes and looks over at Dean, who for once seems to be in agreement. Neither of them will be drinking much. They watch as Abby stumbles towards the campfire, plopping down on one of the logs. She gestures at them to sit by her and they oblige, sharing a worrying glance. Castiel hadn’t realized how fond he had become of her. Maybe it is the way she is open with him and accepting. She always has a smile to give, even when he knows she is hurting too. Even now, his heart aches for her.

She is talkative at first, describing new medical techniques she read about in the textbooks someone brought back from a recent supply run. She tells them old stories of when she was a paramedic working the night shift and going to school during the day. Dean laughs often, telling her she reminds him of his brother, which Castiel is surprised to hear. Dean rarely mentions Sam, even though he knows Dean thinks of him often; as does Castiel.

As the night drags on, Abby becomes quieter, watching as the campground slowly empties. The smile fades from her face and she clutches her hands to her chest, pulling her feet up as well. Her back is against the log and she curls inwards on herself, muffling her own voice.

“I miss them, you know? We grew up together.”

Dean looks over at Castiel, shrugging slightly. Castiel remembers back to the photo in Abby’s cabin and he settles down beside Abby on the ground.

“The women in the photo at your cabin?” he asks.

Abby nods, slowly looking up with a sad smile on her face. “Katarina and Holly…they were my family.”

Dean wraps an arm around Abby’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Castiel huddles in slightly, unsure of where he should place his own arms, so he settles on wrapping his own arm around Dean’s.

“What happened?” Castiel says, silenced quickly by a glare from Dean. “I mean, if you don’t mind. You can talk about it if you want.”

“Or if you don’t, that’s ok too, sweetheart,” Dean says.

Abby nods; her eyes on the dwindling fire in front of them. The light catches the gentle curves of her face, highlighting her youth. Her brown hair falls around her face messily, strands coming out of the rubber band holding the rest of it back. The fire dances in her light brown eyes as she seems to lose focus on the present. Castiel looks around the nearly empty camp, blown away again by the resilience of humanity.

“I lost my parents in a car accident as a kid. That’s why I wanted to become a doctor…but I spent a lot of time in foster care after that,” Abby smiles, running her hand over a bracelet on her arm. “Katarina was my best friend. We grew up in the same foster home.”

With a small laugh, Abby leans back and tilts her head at the sky. “We were in college, just community college, nothing fancy, and sharing a place when we met Holly…” Abby looks between Dean and Castiel, her cheeks flushing slightly despite the alcohol already coloring her skin. “Her and Katarina were you like you two…you know,” Abby demonstrates by crossing two fingers.

Castiel lifts his eyes to look at Dean who meets his gaze, sharing a small smile. Dean chuckles to himself and beings to make a lewd comment before Abby smacks his leg with a laugh.

“I didn’t even _know_ for the longest time. They were tip-toeing around it for a while too but one day it was like they both woke up and admitted that there was something there.” Abby pauses and looks between Dean and Castiel again. “You guys remind me of them.”

Dean looks away quickly, shifting back slightly and coughing. “That means you like us then, right?” he says jokingly.

Castiel shakes his head slightly, looking down at the ground. His cheeks burn a little at the compliment and the insinuation. His runs his hands through the snow on the ground, crunching it slowly between his gloved fingers.

“What happened to them?”

Abby sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. “We were looking for this camp when we got ambushed by a few Croats,” Abby stutters slightly, “Holly was turned first and Kat wouldn’t leave her.” She shakes her head, looking down. “I had to watch it as I begged Kat to come with me. I had to kill Holly, and then Kat once Holly turned her too.”

She turns, looking at Dean, and Castiel can see tears on her cheeks as she takes another drink of alcohol. “I don’t know why Kat wouldn’t let go, she wouldn’t leave her. I don’t understand it! They left me alone.”

Dean wraps her in a hug, his own face drawn and closed. His eyes look tired and sad as he looks at Castiel. Castiel leans over, wrapping his own arms around Abby as well as she sobs quietly into Dean’s shirt. They sit like this for a while, each one lost in thought. Castiel watches the embers from the fire as they dance on the logs, and he catches himself looking at Dean and the way the light casts dark shadows on him in the darkness. When Abby begins to shiver in the cold, Dean helps her to her feet, steadying her. She dries her eyes on her coat sleeve and looks with worn eyes at them both.

“Thank you for listening,” she says, one arm still resting against Dean to help her balance.

“Anytime,” Dean says as he pats her on the head. “I’m gonna put you to bed, ok? Get some sleep.”

Castiel follows them from a short distance behind as Dean walks Abby back to her Cabin. He waits outside, feeling again like a bystander in his own life, but maybe this part isn’t even his story he thinks. He watches as Dean is gentle and caring with Abby, and it warms a piece of his heart to see.

He wonders if this was how Dean was when he helped raise Sam, or when Sam and Dean hunted for years before Castiel ever knew them. Of course, he also wonders what Sam would have thought of Dean and Castiel together. Would he have been accepting, like Abby? Castiel can’t imagine it any other way, but her words echo in his head. He doesn’t know what he would do without Dean, and it scares him to relate to Abby’s friends…he wonders if humanity is about love leading you to your death. He has yet to see much evidence to the contrary, and as snow begins to fall gently, he looks up allowing it to fall gently on the tip of his nose, his lips, and to catch in his eyelashes.

Castiel grins as he feels Dean step behind him, wrapping his arms around his torso and planting a gentle kiss on the back of his head. “Let’s get inside, before we freeze, ya?” Dean says.

With a nod, Castiel obliges, walking next to Dean back to their cabin in silence. They step inside, shedding several of their layers. Dean steps close to Castiel, his fingers brushing the damp strands of hair away from Castiel’s forehead and he smiles softly. Castiel places his hands on Dean’s hips, pulling Dean closer to him.

“I know you hate the cold, Cas, but you look great with your eyelashes covered in snow and your cheeks all red,” Dean says with a wink.

Castiel chuckles slightly, running his hands through Dean’s hair and pulling at the ends. “I could say the same for you,” he growls, pushing Dean back against their closed door. Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s throat, sucking roughly on his pressure point. He bites down slightly, drawing a low groan from Dean.

Dean pushes his hips forward, grinding against Castiel, his fingers raking against Castiel’s back. Castiel grabs both of Dean’s hands, pinning them to the door. He watches as Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his lips parting in pleasure.

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathes out heavily.

Castiel smirks, pressing his lips to Dean’s ears and nibbling gently as he rolls his hips into Dean’s. Dean squirms beneath him, curse words falling from his lips as he struggles slightly to bend Castiel to his own will. Finally Castiel submits, pressing his mouth to Dean’s in a passionate kiss that has them both struggling for air afterwards as Castiel drops Dean’s hands from against the door and steps back.

They stare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily. Dean’s eyes are nearly black and lust-blown in the dim lighting and his lips are slightly swollen already. Castiel’s cock is straining against his pants and after a split second, he begins fumbling with his layers, stripping them off quickly. Dean does the same, beating Castiel to the bed by only a few seconds.

Castiel crawls up the bed, shoving Dean back against the headboard and pinning his arms to the side again. Dean groans, thrusting his hips forwards roughly against Castiel. Dean bites down on his lower lip as Castiel releases his hands and starts trailing down his chest, his tongue lingering briefly over his nipples before biting down. Dean cries out slightly, gripping the top of Castiel’s shoulders and rotating his body so that he is now on top of Castiel.

He licks his lips and smirks, leaning down to press his lips hotly to Castiel’s. Their mouths wrap eagerly around one another as they fight for dominance, Dean taking the lead briefly before relinquishing it to Castiel. His rakes his nails up and down Castiel’s sides, leaving small red marks. Dean’s hips rotate against Castiel’s and their swollen erections glide against each other as they move. Castiel moans quietly, squeezing the soft flesh around Dean’s hips and arching his back upwards.

Dean slides down slowly, pressing Castiel into the mattress as he dips his head lower. He nuzzles his nose along Castiel’s stomach, admiring the taut muscles of his body. Castiel watches Dean, the way his swollen lips graze across his abdomen and then slowly move further down. The room is almost humming with electricity and Castiel can’t help but wonder if that’s some remnant of grace, filling up the space around them. The room is warm and his head feels light as he watches Dean take his cock into his mouth.

He sucks gently at first; sliding his tongue over Castiel’s slit and then begins to stroke his penis in a slow motion. His mouth sucks at the head, and eventually further down. Castiel struggles to keep watching as he grasps at the headboard with both hands, gripping it tight. Every ounce of him threatens to let loose as he comes close to the edge just watching Dean work his mouth around his swollen and red cock.

Castiel inhales sharply as Dean takes him in further, humming slightly. The vibrations send shivers down his spine and he moans loudly.

“Dean, that’s…oh…there”

Dean moves his hand faster, moving one hand to his own penis, stroking it several times and throwing his head back as he does so. Castiel reaches up, pulling Dean onto him and thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth, tasting the saltiness of himself. Castiel places on hand on Dean’s penis, and begins to pump quickly, sliding his fingers up and down, twisting gently. Dean’s cheeks are red and his usual flush creeps down his chest as he comes close to the edge.

Grabbing Castiel’s penis, they work in tandem, each one pushing and pulling the other to their climax. Castiel comes first with a large moan as he sees stars and for a moment stops all movement, instead pressing himself tightly against Dean. As he opens his eyes again, he notices Dean’s penis large and wet against his stomach in a sticky pile, and he grins at Dean, who just shrugs.

“You look hot when you come, I couldn’t help it”.

“I could say the same for you,” Castiel says, pulling Dean in for another kiss.

Once they’ve cleaned up and are back under the covers, fully bundled in layers of winter pajamas, Castiel ventures to discuss his headaches with Dean. As he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and kisses his hair, he mumbles into Dean’s ear, “I need to tell you something,”.

Dean rolls around lazily, his eyelids heavy but his face content. “If you’re gonna say I’m a sex God, then sound more excited,” he says, grinning with his eyes closed.

“That too,” Castiel says before pausing, unsure how to continue.

“Dean, I’ve been getting headaches again.”

Dean’s eyes open again, the familiar crease between his brow reappears. “Shit. For how long, Cas?”

“A few weeks.”

“Is it bad?”

Castiel pauses again. He could lie and say it isn’t unbearable, but Dean would know he’s lying anyway most likely. Yet, he really doesn’t want to bring up old problems and make Dean worry more. “It’s not…unbearable.”

“Ok so it’s fucking awful. Awesome,” Dean says, rolling onto his back.

Castiel immediately misses the warmth, and reaches out to Dean, inching closer. “It’s fine, Dean. I don’t want you to worry.”

“This happened when you first fell, man. It was _bad_. I just don’t understand it.” Dean looks at Castiel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You have a theory. What is it?”

Castiel sighs, “I don’t know if this is so much a theory as perhaps just…pessimism.”

“Ok, and?”

Castiel isn’t sure how to describe it, and he could be totally off but the idea frightens him and keeps him up at night. It seems irrational, and most likely his vessel just is more susceptible to headaches, just like it seems to stiffen in the cold months and in the rain. He looks at Dean, the moonlight in the room falls across his pale neck, and he is looking expectantly at him.

“I just wonder if maybe I have too much up here,” Castiel says, pointing at his head, “and it’s not able to all stay in a human mind.”

Dean nods, understanding effortlessly. “Even though you look in your thirty’s, you’re hundreds of years old,” he runs his hands through his hand and settles his hand on Castiel’s forearm. “Do you think you’re forgetting things?”

“Would I know if I was?” Castiel asks.

“Good point.”

Dean pulls him closer, wrapping his leg around Castiel’s. “Don’t worry too much about it. It’s probably just normal, part-of-being-human, shitty headaches. If you feel like you’re starting to forget crap, come to me and I’ll tell you.”

Castiel nods, burrowing his head against Dean’s shoulder and kissing it gently. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Oh, and don’t take too many of those painkillers either, Cas.” Dean says as an afterthought, his eyes closing and his words becoming muffled at the end. “Don’t want you addicted”, he says quietly as he drifts into sleep, leaving Castiel to fight his own battle with sleep.

 


	14. Helter Skelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide  
> And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride"

February 2013

**Chapter 14: Helter Skelter**

A loud knock at the door causes Dean to wake up, his head groggy from a fitful night of sleep. Castiel is out of bed already, dressed. He answers the door, and Dean sits up rubbing his eyes as Beckett storms in the room. The open door brings in a gust of snow flurries as Beckett looks at Dean and Castiel, telling them both to get ready quickly and meet him at the group cabin. Dean doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow and glaze over again at the sight of the spare cot shoved haphazardly against the wall and covered in junk.

“There’s been an incident. Hurry.” He says, slamming the door behind him, leaving behind a wet trail of snow on the cold cabin floor.

“Fuck,” Dean says, standing quickly and throwing on his clothing. He looks over at Cas, who just shrugs back at him.

“It seems serious,” Castiel says, furrowing his brow and layering his own sweater and jacket over his tee. His hair sticks out in all directions, still damp from his shower.

Dean grabs his own coat, barely shoving his feet in his boots as he opens the door, gesturing towards Cas to hurry up. As they walk towards the group cabin, Dean notices that the weather has picked up. The wind knocks them about, and the white flurries kick up in front of their eyes, blurring their vision.

“I wish February would end already,” Dean mumbles under his breath as he looks down and watches his boots crunch the snow beneath them. His fingers absently graze over his thigh holster and check for the knife he has tucked into the holster attached to his belt. He looks over and watches as Cas does the same.

As they enter the group cabin, Dean’s heart drops. Carys is sitting across from Beckett, her eyes wide with terror as she stares at them. Dean glares at Beckett, his fists balled at his sides. Striding across the room, he pushes Beckett further away.

“What the hell, Beckett! You sent her out on a mission? She’s a goddamn child!” he says, his voice straining to become a full out roar.

Beckett looks at Dean, his eyes cold. “We don’t have the _luxury_ of not using every able-bodied person, Dean. You know this.”

“So what, who did you send her with?”

“She went with Risa, Janet…and Colin.”

Dean’s heart stops for a moment and he looks around the room quickly. “You better tell me that Colin’s paying a visit to Abby right now.”

Beckett looks down at the floor for a moment before gritting his teeth, hissing out a quiet, “No.”

“Dammit!”

Carys lets out a small sob, and Dean turns to look at her. Castiel moves behind Dean, shuffling his feet against the floor in uncomfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you sent rookies out with Risa and Janet,” Dean says eventually, shaking his head. “I assume they are fine, yes?”

Beckett nods, rubbing his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “Dean, this was not meant to be a dangerous mission,” he says finally. “They were only a few miles away.”

Realization hits Dean and he hears Cas inhale behind him. They had talked about this of course. The dangerous winter months have made supply runs less frequent, scouting is difficult and ineffective. The last few nights it had been nearly impossible to even see outside the camp to stand watch. Dean runs his hands through his hair, tilting his head from side to side.

“Janet and Risa should be back soon with a full report and then we need to decide how to proceed.”

Dean pulls out a chair, placing his feet on the tablet and leans back, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling. Cas remains by his side but he doesn’t sit, and Dean notices that his fingers keep running over his gun and his knife. He looks up at Castiel, curious, but notices that his eyes are trained on Carys instead.

A few minutes pass in uncomfortable silence as Dean shoots glares at Beckett, who is leaning against the cabin wall with his hands covering his eyes. Dean closes his eyes finally, different plans forming in his mind. He’s not sure they have enough people to risk going out on a large-scale scouting and combat mission. However, in the winter storm, they are essentially sitting ducks, waiting to be attacked. He opens his eyes slowly as he hears a small grunting sound.

He jumps to his feet at the same moment as Carys, their eyes meeting briefly. He is gutted for a moment, the wind knocked out of his system as he realizes; she’s infected. His realization is a second too late though, as she lunges forwards at Beckett. Dean looks wildly between them, noticing the Beckett’s weapons are lying on the table instead of on him.

Carys, or what used to be her, claws at his skin, grabbing his arms as he tries to fight her off. Dean watches in a daze for a moment as her long red hair flails wildly behind her and the look in her eyes haunts him; the light gone completely out of them and replaced by something he can only describe as hunger. A low growling sound comes from her throat, raw and angry, and it pierces him, waking him up.

Dean pulls his gun out, finally mirroring Castiel who has been ready since the start. His eyes dart frantically between Beckett and Carys.

“Shoot her, Dean!” Beckett yells, struggling for breath as Carys wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him to the floor.

Dean hesitates just a moment and hears the loud crack of a bullet whiz past his ear. He looks at his own gun, the safety still on, and then behind him at Cas. The door flings open, Janet rushing in with her own cheeks still stained with blood and a wild look in her eyes.

“She’s infected!” she yells before stopping and taking in the scene before her. She drops to her knees, tears running down her face. “Colin kissed her. Stupid fucking teenagers! He didn’t even know he was infected and he kissed her. I should have known, I should have known,” she says, placing her hands on the ground in front of her.

Castiel looks at Dean quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder reassuringly before striding over to Janet, pulling her to her feet. Dean’s heart beats loudly in his ears, matching the ringing from Castiel’s gunshot, and he moves as if in slow-motion. With wide eyes he watches as Cas walks Janet out, averting her eyes from the disaster. Dean turns his head slowly to look at Beckett, who is breathing heavily and still seated on the ground beneath the dead body.

“She’s not Carys, not anymore,” Dean tells himself but in death, it doesn’t matter. He’s seen plenty of Croats, killed plenty, but he’s never seen a kid turn.

“She was a damn child!” he says, looking at Beckett finally.

Beckett stands, rolling the body off him and grabs Dean’s jacket lapels, pulling him close. “ _He_ makes you weak. I’ve told you that before.” He spits out before pushing Dean away from him.

“I’m glad Castiel at least had the guts to pull the trigger on it, Dean.”

Dean clenches his fists at his side, reminding himself to not let his anger take control. He bites the inside of cheek instead of crying out, and mumbles, “Yes, sir.” He feels 18 years old again, taking a verbal lashing from his father, and his blood boils beneath his skin. Part of him almost wishes that Castiel had pulled the trigger too late.

Dean hands Beckett his weapons, avoiding eye contact. They work quietly to wrap the body, Dean wincing as he looks at her face again. He wipes his brow, noticing the cold sweat that had broken out over his body and is now clinging to him, making him freeze in the winter air. They carry her body over to the back of the cabin, burying it quietly. Dean doesn’t need to ask why.

They normally burn bodies, a well-practiced method by Dean, but they are wound tight with nerves over the recent mission. If there are Croats getting closer to this camp, then they need to be careful, which also means no roaring fires. Dean’s not even sure how Croats survive in this weather, but he curses the fact that they do, and even more that they are still drawn to fire and warmth like normal humans.

As Dean finishes placing the last bit of dirt upon her grave, he looks up to find Beckett staring at him.

“I’m sorry, son…for what I said before. I’m not saying it ain’t true,” he says pausing, rubbing his hands on his neck where a dark bruise has begun to set in. “I’m just sayin’ that I didn’t need to say it to you like that.”

“Ok,” Dean says, his mouth still set in a firm line.

“I’m sorry it happened like this.”

Dean nods again, unclenching his jaw slightly. He finishes packing the dirt and turns to walk away. “We done here?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you back at the group cabin in two hours, Winchester.”

***

Dean has been in the cabin for barely an hour when Castiel bursts in, his eyes wide and his hair a mess as if he has been running his hands through it nervously. The snow outside follows Cas in with a large gust of wind.

“The scouting group saw a large hoard of Croats coming, Dean. I don’t know what’s going to happen but we’re all packing up supplies in case of an emergency.”

Dean’s jaw drops slightly and his heart stops as he looks around at the cabin that has become a home to him. He doesn’t say anything but begins throwing all their necessary supplies into bags. Castiel grabs his wrists and pulls him in for a tight kiss.

“I’ll finish here. Beckett wants you to start lining up the caravan of cars. Risa has everyone else packing now too.”

Dean nods, his voice caught in his throat as he runs through scenarios in his mind. Him and Beckett have talked through this and the entire camp has run drills for it; but this seems surreal now. As he steps outside, the snow whips around him in an angry huff, stinging his eyes. Dean doesn’t waste time, running towards the center of the camp where he can hear Beckett barking orders.

Screams nearby pierce through the howling of the cold wind and Dean whips his head around, with his fingers on his gun. Beckett grabs Dean’s shoulders, turning him around again. His eyes are wild with worry but a set determination is plastered upon his face. “You need to get everyone loaded in the caravan and out of here,” he says, his eyes flickering around behind Dean’s shoulders and scanning the grounds.

“How bad is it?”

Beckett pauses before frowning deeply, “much more than we can handle”.

Dean hears another scream from deeper within the camp and he looks at Beckett, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? How can they be at the rear of the camp?” Dean’s eyes linger on the camp entrance which is busy with activity but is still defended.

“The ice…this goddamn winter,” Beckett says bitterly. “I always knew it would happen in winter.”

Dean’s eyes widen in horror and he pushes past Beckett, drawing his gun and racing towards the edge of the camp that is nested safely along the lake edge. He nears it and slows, his boots crunching through bloody snow. As he looks out over the frozen water, the sight makes his heart stop. Dozens of Croats are making their way across the ice, some crawling and sliding along, and some of them fall through weak spots in the ice. The majority of them press onwards though, with little difficulty.

A grunting noise behind Dean startles him and he turns around just in time to catch a Croat running towards him, it’s eyes wild and fingers grasping like claws. He pulls out his knife, catching it easily in the throat and using the momentum to shove the knife deep into its skull before dropping the lifeless body to the ground. His eyes linger for one more moment along the shore of the lake before he runs quickly back towards the cabins.

The camp buzzes with activity and people speaking in hurried but hushed tones. Dean is relieved to see that most of the cam vehicles are packed and the designated drivers are already ushering the civilians into them. Dean pushes through a small group of people, finding his way back towards his tent.

Castiel is inside, a pile of bags at his feet as he finishes loading one last bag full of ammunition and weapons. Dean grabs the bags, hoping to hide his own fear and horror. “We need to get this loaded up and get out.”

“So we are definitely leaving?” Castiel asks, a sad grimace on his face.

“Yeah. I saw them, Cas. They’re coming over across the lake and I don’t want to know how the front gate is looking but I can already hear them.”

Cas looks around the cabin one more time before slinging the last bag over his shoulder. Dean does the same; his heart heavy with the knowledge of saying goodbye to yet another place he had considered to be home.

“I’ll miss it,” Cas says quietly, walking past Dean slowly. Their fingers graze each other and Dean reaches out, clasping Castiel’s hand in his for just a moment, squeezing it gently.

“Me too,” he says.

As they load up their car, Dean looks around, counting the vehicles and people. He shakes his head, counting one more time. “We don’t have enough cars, Cas,” he says with a worried frown.

Castiel looks around as well, looking down at the ground before responding. Dean’s heart sinks further with the knowledge that Cas has figured out something that Dean hasn’t yet.

“I don’t believe everyone plans to leave here,” he says, his eyes avoiding Dean’s.

“That’s bullshit,” he says, shoving his last bag into the trunk of the car.

“I don’t think there is any other choice,” Cas says sadly.

Dean shakes his head, but he knows there is a large hint of truth in what Cas is saying. The last few supplies are loaded; food, weaponry, and winter necessities taking precedence. Chuck flits between each vehicle with a clipboard laden down with papers. The air is a heavy mix of snow and nerves, the civilians tucked safely with loaded cars and waiting to leave. The sound and smell of the Croats is already permeating the camp, drawing worried looks from each person Dean passes.

He gives orders when he can, stopping when necessary. He is helping Chuck load the last few supplies into a truck when the flare signal goes off. His eyes go wide as he notices the color; red. Throwing the last box into the truck, Dean runs towards the center of the camp. The cabins he passes are empty and the campground is nearly a graveyard; no signs of life with the exception of the people at the front gate.

Beckett meets his eye the moment Dean comes close, and he runs over, his nose red from the snow. The sound of gunshots ring through the camp, only masked by the howling wind and the sound of Croats approaching.

“We need to go, Beckett!” Dean yells, straining to be heard.

“You take them, Dean. Remember the three check-points, and head for Camp Chitaqua! It’s the only place I know of that might still be around,” Beckett says, his booming voice muffled by the loud gushes of wind.

“You’re coming too, we can all leave right now if we hurry,” Dean says, already knowing it is a futile attempt. His eyes glance over towards the camp entrance again; the only way out. He looks back at Beckett who is shaking his head at the ground.

“We’re in fucking Helm’s Deep, aren’t we?” Dean says, realizing now the true reality of the situation.

“I don’t know what that means, boy, but if you mean we’re backed against a wall…then yah, we ain’t got much choice here.”

Dean turns his head to look again at the people standing guard at the gate, firing rounds into the area beyond the camp. He recognizes them all; an older woman who usually only works in the kitchen with Chuck, a young man who recently lost his wife on a mission, and an older man who is drunk the majority of the time but today seems to be the only exception. Dean looks back at Beckett, his mouth set in grim determination.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re gonna draw them out; have them follow us down the path towards the old docks on the other side of this camp. We wanna get them as far from the entrance as we can…give you guys a good shot at all getting out.”

“What about you?” Dean says, placing a hand on Beckett’s shoulder.

“I was never gonna leave this place, Dean,” he says as he pulls out the worn image of his family and shoves it into Dean’s hand. “Don’t forget the things I taught you. You’re gonna be the leader and that means making tough choices…don’t forget that son.”

Dean shoves the photo into his coat pocket and pulls Beckett in for a hug. They embrace for a quick moment before the sound of exploding gunfire causes them to pull back. Beckett pats Dean on the back one last time, a small smile on his face.

“Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean chokes out, his eyes watering slightly. Beckett doesn’t look back again after he turns away, striding towards the front wall of the gate. Dean runs back towards the line of cars, finding Castiel and filling him in. Together they relay the information to each driver, along with information on the three check-in points. The plan is simple; they all meet at their designated check-in point unless it’s a hotspot and too dangerous, in which case they move on to the next check-in.

Dean heads back to his own vehicle, buckling himself in. He prepares to see the blue flare signal from Beckett to indicate that the front gate is clear. He drums his fingers nervously against the steering wheel, cursing Cas for taking so long. Just as he prepares to go find Castiel, there’s a frantic knock on his window.

“Abby is missing!” Castiel yells, loud enough for Dean to hear through the glass. Dean’s eyes widen and he flies out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

Dean follows Cas, who is a few steps ahead of him, jogging towards Abby’s tent. “Her car is loaded up!” Dean says, the wind numbing his cheeks as he walks. “Where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know, Dean, but we need to hurry,” Cas says, pointing his drawn gun at a few approaching Croats.

Dean fires quickly, but quickens his pace behind Castiel. They begin to run towards Abby’s cabin, sprinting at the sound of a piercing scream through the howling wind. Several Croats are gathering around Abby’s cabin and they can see her figure moving through her curtain.

Cas draws his knife, putting his fingers to his lips. He twirls it expertly in his hands several times, testing out the feel of it with his gloves. He is quick, moving in and killing the two Croats who were pressed against the door. Dean pulls out his own knife, taking out two more approaching Croats. Castiel flings open the door and grabs Abby, throwing her over his shoulder.

The camp is being quickly overrun by the Croats who are walking across the ice. The three of them move silently, hoping to not draw more attention to themselves as they run. Castiel puts Abby back down on the ground as they reach a small group of Croats.

“Run,” he growls, drawing the attention of the Croat group and moving in. Dean follows suit, his knife flashing wildly in the air as he attacks with the same ferocity as the Croats themselves. A distant pop sounds in the air and Dean catches a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye.

“Fuck!” he yells, “we don’t have time for this!”

Castiel nods, raising his leg and kicking a Croat back before drawing his own gun and firing quickly. They both sprint towards the cars, throwing themselves in. Dean’s not sure how large of a window of time they have to get out of here, but he knows it isn’t much. Through the snow he can already see the fast movement of approaching bodies as he slams his shifter into the drive position. Through his rearview mirror he spots Abby sitting inside her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

He presses forwards, thankful that at least the last mission had been to retrieve snow tires for the vehicles in case of an emergency. The driveway is covered in light snow but it is easily managed as he drives forward, keeping his eyes forwards for any sign of trouble. As his car passes through the front gate, he looks around for the few people who had volunteered to stay behind as bait.

Of course they are gone, running for their lives through the forest and sprinting towards the old boat dock that is likely full of Croats as well. “Running to their deaths,” he says bitterly beneath his breath. Next to him, Dean hears Cas exhale in a sign of relief.

“Their plan seems to have worked at least. It wasn’t for nothing.” He says solemnly.

Dean doesn’t respond but instead drives forwards, the car jostling over small mounds of uneven snow. He looks in his rearview mirror and is happy to note that each car is following easily as they move quietly through the old camp, passing unseen.

 


	15. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The night has reached its end  
> We can't pretend  
> We must run  
> We must run  
> It's time to run"

**Chapter 15: Resistance**

The caravan drives for hours several hours, making long detours around cities and towns. As they near the first checkpoint, a truck stop somewhere in Iowa, Dean groans loudly. There are overturned cars and several Croats can be seen walking in the distance. He hadn’t expected all their check-points to be safe still; they had chosen them months ago, but the sight it still disappointing. He stops his car for a moment, resting his head against the steering wheel.

It’s only a moment of respite, much needed but far too short, and Dean is pulling his car around again to backtrack towards the next check-point. He looks at Cas, who is grimacing at the map in his hands and furrowing his brow in concentration. They’ve been silent so far, each one lost in their own thoughts.

“I guess this was to be expected,” Dean says, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him.

“I suppose,” Cas responds, running his hands along his legs as he looks down at the map. “We could try the next check-in, but I think we should just continue on to the camp.”

Dean turns his head slowly, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s avoiding it, and that delaying is probably not the best option, but he can’t help it. Camp Chitaqua is the last place he wants to return to; not after last time. His fingers grip the steering wheel tightly as he accelerates slightly, continuing on his same path towards another check-in area.

“We need to get people fed and checked over for injuries, Cas. We’re stopping first, somewhere, I don’t care where.”

“Dean,” Cas says softly.

“We don’t even know if Camp Chitaqua is still there! I’m not risking it without stopping first to make sure everyone is fine in case we have to go elsewhere.”

Cas nods slowly, but he doesn’t move his eyes from watching Dean. He tilts his head slightly to the side, and Dean expects him to argue but he doesn’t, he simply looks at him as if he is trying to decipher some hidden code.

“What?” Dean asks, annoyed.

“You can’t avoid going back there. I don’t want to either, but it’s our only option.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Dean says, glaring back at Cas for a moment. He turns his head towards the road again, sighing loudly. “I just want to be prepared, ok?”

From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Castiel nod his head before he leans back and closes his eyes.

***

They reach the next check-point area easily enough, despite Castiel’s reservations. He watches quietly as Dean stops at each car, describing the plan in detail. Castiel helps Chuck unload food for people while they alternate taking guard around their established perimeter. The parking lot is empty and clear of abandoned cars; a task that had taken three separate trips to accomplish. The wide open view of the area makes it easier to guard, and it’s remote location serves them well for this short stop.

As they load back up, Castiel twirls his familiar knife in his hand, an uneasiness settling into his bones. He gestures towards to Dean to wrap it up as he leans against the hood of Risa’s car, a map spread out against it as he points out different locations to her.

It happens slowly at first, one Croat, and then two. One of the children in their car starts to cry, and that’s when the trouble really starts. Castiel pulls out his gun and shoots the closest approaching Croat, while Dean shoves his map back into his pocket and sprints towards their car. The rest of the people guarding their location follow suit, mimicking Dean. They save their bullets, firing only when necessary.

“Get in your cars, we need to leave. NOW!” Dean instructs, motioning to Risa to lead the convoy out of the area. She nods, and honks her horn two times before pulling out, snow crunching roughly beneath her tires.

Dean and Castiel fire more rounds into a small approaching group, leaving only a few to be fought in close range. Castiel sprints in first, moving swiftly and expertly as he swings his blade; years of getting used to moving as a human now, and he’s perfected his technique. Dean follows next, applying brute force as he pulls off a second Croat who attempts to grab Castiel by the back.

Castiel doesn’t need to watch Dean to know he’s there, drawing off the focus so that Castiel can move in quickly. Dean is swearing under his breath and Castiel can hear him breathing heavily as they line up, back to back. Castiel’s body is already tired and his own breathing is short and labored.

They both look towards their advancing caravan, becoming dots in the distance. “We need to get in the car and clear enough of a path to get through and not be followed,” Castiel says, pulling out his gun and shooting at another advancing group of Croats. Their guttural sounds send shivers down his spine, even now, despite their familiarity. The snow slows them slightly, but not enough.

Dean looks at Castiel and nods, blood dripping from his forehead into his eyes and a small cut is visible across his nose. Castiel takes point, grabbing the nearest approaching Croat that is running towards him. He flings it’s body backwards towards Dean who slices upwards, killing it as Castiel kills the next one. The process is quick and efficient as long as they don’t get surrounded.

With a shot, Castiel kills the next closest Croat and begins to run back towards their car, across the now empty parking lot. He grabs Dean’s hand, pulling him along behind him. He knows that Dean is slightly injured, and beyond exhausted, and for the millionth time he wishes he could heal him.

They run, the snow crunching beneath their boots and wind nipping at their faces. Castiel pushes Dean towards the passenger seat, not waiting for a response. They jump into the car, and their doors are barely closed before they are speeding forwards, as much as they can through the small covering of snow. Their tires grind and fling up snow behind them in a wide trail, and Castiel presses harder on the gas as he drives through a small group of Croats. Beside him, he hears Dean suck in his breathe as the bodies hit the bumper and slide off.

It doesn’t take them long to be clear of the area, and Castiel drives onwards in the hopes of catching up with their caravan. They continue under the approaching cover of night and Dean cleans up his own wounds before succumbing to an unwelcomed slumber.

Castiel looks at him occasionally, listening to the gentle snores coming from sleeping in an awkward position. He doesn’t like to think of how things will change at the new camp. There are too many random variables. A small part of him hopes it is abandoned; he remembers the camp with a strong bitterness that surprises even himself.

They had gone there shortly after the Croatoan virus has first been released. The cities were the first to go, nearly within the first month. They were safe at Bobby’s, at least for the time, but they knew what was out there. They knew that it wasn’t just Croats that they had to watch out for, but demons and every other monster. Of course now, that’s all there is now. Something in the virus caused vampires and ghouls to die. At the time, Dean had called it the “silver lining”.

With Bobby, they had gone to Camp Chitaqua, hoping to offer some knowledge and help. They figured if they could set up some camps, along with the other hunters, then humanity could maybe stand a chance. Of course, nothing had gone according to plan. They had been there only a few days, and were told to leave with no other explanation than saying Bobby in his wheelchair was too much of a hindrance to the group.

Castiel looks over at Dean again, his injuries looking less severe in the pale moonlight. The lines on his face have smoothed out slightly and his lips are parted as he breathes in an even manner, free of nightmares. Castiel reaches over and runs a hand gently through Dean’s hair. He knows something else happened at that camp, that there’s some reason Dean is so reluctant to return. He only wishes he knew what it was.

 


	16. Dust in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea  
> All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see"

**Chapter 16: Dust in the Wind**

Dean wakes up to an aching pain in his neck and how lower back, and his face pressed against the window of a moving car. He leans backwards, wiping the remnants of slobber from his face and looks at Castiel, who is hiding a grin.

“Mornin’,” Dean says with a yawn. “Thanks for driving, man.”

“You were tired and I wasn’t. Don’t worry about it,” Cas responds as he points forwards. “We caught up to everyone else. Risa was driving slow and we pulled over at the last check-point so people could trade drivers and get some sleep for a few hours.”

“I slept through all that?!” Dean exclaims.

Castiel laughs as Dean smiles for the first time since the previous day’s events. Dean reaches over, and squeezes Cas’ hand before pulling away quickly, averting his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, sliding his gaze towards Dean for a moment before looking back at the road again. “We’re almost there, so now would be a pertinent time to tell me why you’re so against going back there.”

Dean sighs and looks down at his hands, avoiding making eye contact with Cas. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much, besides the obvious fact that they got kicked out because of _him_ , and that Bobby never even knew that. Dean meant to tell him of course, but he just never got around to it.

“Remember that guy, Jace, who ran the camp? That asshole?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I guess he kind of came on to me…” Dean says, pausing to look over at Cas nervously.

“And?”

“I mean, I told him to fuck off, of course!”

“So are you worried he won’t let us join his camp, if it’s still there…” Castiel asks tentatively.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I decked him when he said some things, so…ya”

 Dean runs hands through his hair as he turns his body to face Castiel. He eyes him nervously, trying to read his neutral expression.

“Why didn’t you tell Bobby?” Cas asks, “he was torn up about us being told to leave. He thought it was his fault, Dean.”

“I know, Cas. You don’t need to remind me. I feel like shit about it every day.” Dean pauses, breathing in heavily. He can’t help as hot tears spring to his eyes as he remembers Bobby. “I didn’t think we’d lose him, ok?”

Cas slows the vehicle to a stop and reaches over, placing both hands on the sides of Dean’s face. Dean blinks back tears and his stomach flutters as Cas places a deep kiss on his lips, passionate but gentle; full of need as well as understanding and forgiveness. It leaves a lingering longing on his lips, and Dean pulls Castiel in once more. He can’t help but feel that everything will change soon, and maybe they need this one moment to hold on to before it all slips away.

Dean looks out at the other stopped cars around them, people moving as if in slow motion, and he turns back to look at Cas. The sun hangs high in the sky, reflecting her light onto the blinding white snow, and Dean finds himself blinking to see through the light illuminating Castiel. For a moment he looks like an angel again and Dean reaches his fingers up to run his hand along Cas’ unshaven cheek.

“We lost a lot of people, Cas.”

Castiel nods, his blue eyes clouding over, and the moment is gone. Cas is human again, full of painful scars that won’t ever heal. Dean sighs and leans back in his seat, preparing himself for the battle ahead.

“It’s like that song, man. We’re all dust in the wind.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! After a lot of deliberation, I decided to write more. So this is part 1 of 2 parts! Part 2 will come soon which will take us through to 2014 and 2009!Dean!
> 
> Please check out the art for this fic here: http://stefy-coool.livejournal.com/135812.html


End file.
